Dots
by knirbenrots
Summary: As long as she can remember, Macey Campbell is a writer. Her first novel, a thriller, is immediately compared with the best of the best. But Macey refuses to have her picture published on those novels and doesn't want to give any interviews. What reason does she have for that?
1. Chapter 1

Dots

As long as she can remember, Macey Campbell is a writer. She published some short stories and her novel, a thriller, is immediately compared with the best of the best. The 'new Nora Roberts' is about to become a very popular storyteller.

But Macey refuses to have her picture published on those novels and doesn't want to give any interviews. What reason does she have for that? Probably the best: she was told she has enemies from the past. Enemies she may not remember…

* * *

Dots – part 1

 **October 2014 || Long Beach**

 _The wobbly feeling of moving around without seeing where one was going to had was gone. It ended hours ago. Now, there was soft and nearly indistinct movement and splatter, which meant that the journey overseas came to an end, and nobody knew for sure what would happen now. The temperatures had slowly risen to nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The sea-container was now smelling of fear, tears and sweat, and it even smelled of urine._  
 _It smelled of too many scared people packed in too little space._

 _The sound of the roller shutters being removed made the scared women mumble in anticipation, cry out because of the sudden shock or, on the contrary, were quiet._

 _Then the doors opened and five heavily armed men stood in front of the group. All five of them were dressed casually but still in a uniformed way — dark grey cargo trousers and black shirts or dark jackets. Three of them had short hair, buzz cut._

 _Four of the five men stepped forward until they reached the women in the crowded container unit._  
 _The fifth, definitely the leader, started shouting. He was tall, with dark, brown and piercing eyes, hidden beneath bushy eyebrows. Nothing sympathetic radiated from his attitude, and it was clear he needed to be in control._

 _"Listen up, putas! There's 25 bitches of you in here. Hardworking girls and women who will start a new life in this land, the promised land. But we know there's a traitor between you. Someone who wants to prevent all of this, who wants to send you back to Mexico."_

 _The four armed men now entered the container, checking the girls' and women's faces. Some of them looked away, some whispered. Not all of them understood English._

 _"Who is it? Who is working against us? Where is she? I know we can find you…" the man yelled._

 _There were some soft buzzing voices, whispers only, yet none of the girls and women responded._  
 _Then, the leader motioned to one of the other men, who now grabbed one of the youngest girls by her dark, nearly black hair and dragged her out, leading her to the leading man._  
 _"Who is it? I won't ask again. Speak up or this little puta will die."_

 _The girl screamed out loud, her dark eyes filled with fear. Tears started to run, from fear and from the pain of someone pulling her hair._

 _"We're counting down… Five more seconds or else…"_

 _Nobody spoke. It was as if the crowded group as a whole was holding their breath. And during the five seconds which felt like much, much longer, nobody moved, nobody spoke. Nobody counted. It was just awfully quiet for five seconds and a bit. All that was heard were the sobs of the girl._

 _The gunshot cracked, echoing aloud in the large metal case the women were staying in. It was all surreal for another millisecond, but then the first cries of horror sounded as the lifeless body of the anonymous young Mexican female slid to the floor._

 _Ignoring it all, the military-looking leader looked around and now spoke in a low voice, perhaps even more angry than when he yelled. Unpredictable, dangerous, clear enough._

 _"Anyone now?"_

 _He faced the women and, when none of them responded, sent another brief nod to one of his men. Another woman who was forced to face the others, her shrieks being ignored._

 _"Five seconds…" the voice of the leader was nearly soothing when he grabbed the woman even tighter. He probably never listened to her pleading 'no, por favor'._

 _Slowly, the leader then snugged the barrel of the gun to her head while he spoke "Five… four… three…"_

 _It was all too clear he would never hesitate to kill._

 _Marcia Schwarz suppressed her fears then stepped forward. "Let her go."_

 _A venomous smile appeared on the man's face as he pushed away the other woman like a bag of dirt. The man let his gaze go over Marcia's face and body. She looked just like she wanted to look — exactly like one of the bitches she'd been hiding in between. Dark eyes, but not brown, they were nearly black instead. High cheekbones and a wide mouth and dark hair, in a ponytail, like half of the other women had. The plain, grey dress she wore showed nothing of the figure underneath it._  
 _He addressed her. "Now look at you… There's no need to stay silent. We know it's you. So tell me, what agency are you working for? FBI? DEA?"_

 _There was a short cry of pain when his flat hand slapped her face. She swallowed it away and slowly looked up at him, dared to face him, despite she knew that in one way or another, she was burned._  
 _She responded nevertheless. "Perhaps. How about CIA?"_

 _The man now narrowed his eyes in anger. His face came closer, much closer and she felt drips of his spit on her cheek when he now yelled once again "You and I both know that's impossible!"_

 _She lifted her chin. Maybe she was out of luck indeed, but now, without the barriers of the metal and the people around her, her agency should be able to track her from now on. And in that case, the remaining women and girls would be able to travel back to their beloved ones._  
 _The thought kept her going and he must have read it in her eyes._

 _"You're wired," he hissed, his eyes even darker._  
 _This was a female. A species that should be easily overruled, that should not be considered as dangerous._  
 _But with her chin up and her dark grey eyes showing defiance instead of fear, the man who faced her knew rumors were true. He could no longer deny what his partners had convinced him about — this woman was an agent who should not be underestimated._

 _His simple statement surprised her. How did this man know, who told him? There was no time for thinking, since in a matter of seconds he pulled a knife on her. It flashed only once and it surprised her that there was no immediate pain. The adrenaline blocked it, she figured. What she did feel was the anger of knowing the button-cam and com were destroyed, the anger of being betrayed and the urge to find out by whom. She tried to breath normally. She tried, until the pain set in._

 _She was aware though, of the appearance of a bright red dot. One which should never be there, not moving over **her** body. She knew she could escape from it, and she nearly did._  
 _Until she kind of slipped in the blood beneath her feet and she hit her head, hard, on the metal handle of the container unit._

 _That was the moment special agent Marcia Schwarz had no longer any awareness of what was happening next._

 _None at all._

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Monday, April 11, 2016, 5.55 AM || Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles**

He checked his smart-watch and heaved a deep sigh. The slightest touch of his forefinger on the small, black touchscreen told G. Callen that he had exactly four minutes left to meet with the tiny woman who liked to boss around, and his team, in time.  
Four minutes was very little, since he first needed to find a free lot to park his silver Mercedes Benz in the small parking garage underneath the large Marketplace Mall opposite of the office, then hurry across the street, enter the office, drop his bag next to his desk and rush up the cast iron staircase where the others probably had gathered already.

Hetty would just send one of her looks his way, Callen figured. The assistant director – Owen Granger would simply be peeved or ignore him. That was, if he was around, since Granger spent more time with the New Orleans team nowadays. And Sam… Well, Callen realized his partner was going to ask even more questions now he came in late again, like he had been yesterday and the day before yesterday. Late, and with his own car.

But well, Sam had no idea of the energy Anna Kolcheck had, neither how much time Callen spent with her or which new sites he visited.

Never mind Anna… He still had another 2 minutes before he was really late.  
And never mind the short night with too many disagreements and the usual make up, he sure did not wish that it would be just another day in the office. The paperwork was something he detested.

Again, Callen sighed. Too many small cars were double-parked, even at this time of the morning. He hated it that he'd had to find a place in a row farther from the exit, and smiled to himself as he finally found a place which fit his car. He parked it next to a bright green Chevrolet Sonic which was battered and bruised. Its owner definitely didn't mind. Probably a bad driver or bad parker. Callen decided that he'd take the risk with his Mercedes, parked it and left it, pressing the button on its keycard to close the doors while on his way to the exit.

Traffic was quiet at this time of the day and Callen crossed the street without a problem. No better place for a federal agency than a place like this – no curious watchers, no striking new building from the outside, no noticeable signs. A perfect hide in plain sight, like he loved to perform himself.  
He nearly moaned when he noticed that both Sam's Challenger and Kensi's silver Ford, issued by the government, were parked already in the small court next to the entry of the abandoned water plant. He imagined the comments on his being late, again, would be irritating, especially if they'd come from Deeks.

He breathed in deep before he opened the large and heavy wooden door.  
It was like he expected it to be. The bags and jackets left on chairs showed and proved his three co-workers had arrived already. He dropped his bag as well and tossed the key card of the car on his desk, then was about to hurry up the stairs.

"Oh, Mr. Callen?"

He never expected the older, very little but mentally very strong lady, to sit behind her desk, her face very serious. Paper files were in front of her, however, she shut them before he managed to read any of it. She put down a nearly emptied floral Royal Albert cup from which she probably drank one of the many different teas already.

"What?" he replied.

She sent him a short nod and said "Take care."  
Hetty paused for a brief moment, let her gaze go over the agent in charge. She nodded, which appeared to be rather encouraging to him at that moment.

"Any particular reasons I should?" Callen retorted. "What did I miss so far?"

"Nothing, dear boy. You missed nothing so far. I'm sure assistant director Granger will clarify all that needs to be clarified to you and your team."

To Callen, it sounded a bit off of what he was used to. He frowned shortly, then decided to find out what Granger had to say.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Dots, part 2**

* * *

A/N Thank you so far for reading and leaving a review. Your input is valuable to me! As you may or may not know, life had some things going on which kept me from writing as my boys needed, and still do need, more attention than usual from me…

* * *

Disclaimer: the characters of NCIS Los Angeles belong to CBS. The only thing that's all mine is the idea for this storyline.

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

For a millisecond, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever comments that might come. Then, Callen pushed the small green button and the sliding doors to Ops Center opened up. He entered the room and seconds later, the doors slid close again.

Six pairs of eyes stared his way, but only seconds after Callen had entered, the youngest of the team, intelligent analyst and part-time agent Nell Jones, calmly continued with what she was outlining for the team.  
"As I just explained, our San Diego co-worker Thomas Roberts was found dead late last night in an alley near Van Nuys."

"And we know this how?" Callen wanted to know.

In his usual nasal voice, Granger explained. "After he went missing two days ago, he was found by someone who thought he found a short-cut to the airport. Instead of saving time, he nearly ran over a motorcycle with a dead body next to it. And we know it also because it was confirmed by agent Blye and detective Deeks, who both responded to my call near two o' clock this morning, agent Callen. Which cannot be said for you."

At that time, he probably was in the 'Bootsy Bellows' or on his way to Anna's place, arguing about whatever it was they were arguing about lately. Anyway, no way he heard any phone call, let alone wanting to answer any.  
Callen was about to reply until he noticed how Sam motioned behind Granger. A definite no-go came from his partner, so he swallowed the words he planned to say. Instead, he answered "I understand, Sir."

Callen studied the pictures Nell had put on the screen. One picture of NCIS itself, with the usual info on it. Thomas Roberts stared into the Ops Center from the large screen.  
Brown eyes, a haircut even shorter than his – features that fit with lots of agents and military personnel. Next to the ID-card, another picture was put on display.

"This picture was taken last night, at the crime scene. I agree, it's nearly too dark and I haven't been able to enhance it, yet," Eric brought up. "But what you can see are definitely those bullet holes which proved to have been lethal."  
With a laser beam, Eric pinpointed at dark spots on dark clothes. Dark pools of what must be blood mixed with the similar dark puddles of rainwater in the alley.  
And there was one more picture, probably made by the medical examiners as cold, white light which shone and which proved a dead body looked even more dead when illuminated like that.  
The agent's upper body was bruised and battered, and Callen counted three bullet holes, all which would have killed the agent anyway.

"Tortured, escaped, a car chase and finally killed," Callen expressed his conclusion.

"My opinion as well," Sam said. "Look at those cuts on his chest and the bruising around it. Exactly what you get by being hit with for example a simple trouser belt."

Callen nodded and asked Granger. "Do we know by whom he could've been tortured and how he got in there?"

"Nearly. I suppose we could go for some sight-seeing in San Diego, right, captain Granger?" Deeks answered.

A tight smile appeared on Granger's face. "I suppose you could. On the other hand, I suppose that Beale in here can find out just about the same in his systems too."

"Even if you suppose he could, I suppose Kenz and I still could have a way of obtaining all we need to know from this agent Roberts' family and superiors." Deeks tried again. Then, when he noticed how the assistant director raised his brows, he added "Although, of course, I do suppose you could give a straight call to his handler. Since I suppose you are his superior like you are mine, or perhaps not really my boss since I'm still a LAPD detective, so not really NCIS, not yet, anyway, so, if you gave orders… I suppose?"

Without a direct response, Granger cleared his throat twice and said "As I was saying. Blye and Deeks, I want the two of you go and check with agent Roberts' relatives and co-workers. See if he mentioned anything which might have led to this specific situation."

He then addressed Eric. "Beale, try and trace back Roberts' movement in town. Cars, bills, phone-calls; the usual things."

After a discrete cough, Nell felt it was her time to speak again. "And I suppose I could assist Eric with that, don't you think, Sir?"

Granger shook his head. "I need you in the field this time Jones. You will team up with agent Hanna in here."

"But…" Sam tried.

This time Granger raised his hand, motioning he did not want to be interrupted again. "Hanna, you and Jones will inspect the crime scene again. This time in broad daylight. See if there's any evidence left or to be shared by the local police. Find out if there are witnesses. Check on the motorcycle. See if there's bullet cases. The usual things."

Then, Granger felt those clear blue eyes of the agent in charge piercing in his back. "And you and I need a different kind of discussion this time, agent Callen."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Interstate 5, near Santa Ana || one and a half hour later**

"You think Ana was a saint indeed?" Deeks' question for Kensi reached the rest of the team as well, though practically nobody listened really carefully since the others had specific tasks too.

Kensi yawned, tired of how her morning had passed so far. Then she pondered over Deeks' question, hummed and answered "Obviously. They wouldn't have mentioned her as a town if she wasn't. I mean, the sign would just mention 'Ana' if she wasn't a saint, so she has to have been."  
She kept her gaze fixed on the blue Honda in front of them, driving too slow in her opinion, yet continued "But it's a discussion I really think is useless, Deeks. I mean, why care about Ana?"

"Exactly my thoughts. Callen may care for her, but this Ana must've been a different from his Anna. The Russian connection, y'know? But it's exactly what I mean. Think this — if it were about Anna, blonde, long legs, tanned and dressed and looking all Californian, well, we all would care. But this is Ana. Probably a poor girl, coming from the South, let's say, Mexico. Who would care about her? Well, she must have cared for other people. She must have done something pretty holy fantastic."

"Things like?" Kensy Blye interrupted. She now glanced sideward at her partner, who kept chattering.

But Deeks just shrugged. "Dunno. I studied Law and how to be an exotic dancer, remember? History never was my cup of tea, you know."

Kensi shook her head and sighed as loud as she could. "Tell me more about the case. I need to concentrate on driving this car and stay awake, remember?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **OpsCenter || Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles**

"So?"

There was the one-word-way discussion which Callen mastered better than anyone else Owen Granger knew of. Still, Callen now wiggled his jaw, Granger noticed, so there was a certain way of irritation or uncertainty. He knew that separating the agent in charge from his usual partner might anger Callen. But reading faces never was Granger's strongest point. True, since he left the field work himself he lost most of the ability to do so.  
But with Callen, well, he never knew. He always was the most difficult one of this team to handle, to explain things to and to understand. Theirs was very different from the relationship Henrietta Lange had with special agent in charge G. Callen and it probably always would be.

More gentle than usual, he nodded to the other man. "You feel left out, don't you?"

A simple shrug was the only response he got.

"Look at the screen once again Callen. Look at it the way I did."

The clear blue eyes were cold for some seconds, then were focused on what he really saw. Slowly, Callen nodded as he understood what Granger meant.

"Eric, any chance that with this footage, you can estimate how far the shooter was from the deceased?" Callen then asked.

The technical analyst looked up from what he was doing, pretending he never heard the previous discussion.  
"The distance?" He shook his head. "No. That's about the only thing my systems can't do. But then, there's Rose. She can do magic in minutes."  
He took the phone and repeated the question to the medical examiner who handled most of their cases. He nodded and hummed three times, looked at the other men and responded to the woman on the other side of the line "The fastest postmortem exam you've ever conducted indeed. But it's only this question we need to have answered this far. So, 10 minutes?"

Granger glanced at Callen, then inwardly smiled when he saw how a nearly unnoticeable smirk had appeared on the agent's face and how Callen let his hands go over his hair.

"I think I get the point, Granger," Callen then said. "Colored lenses. A buzzer can do magic. Scruff's about the same." Again, Callen nodded. "I could be Roberts for a while, if necessary, I suppose. You've got any files about the guy I need to know of?"

"Sure have, agent Callen. I knew you would get to the same point eventually."

"Glad you decided to share it, eventually, with me, like you shared this idea of you with Hetty earlier."

Granger sighed and asked "And you know this, how?"

"She shared her mood. That was enough, Granger. She's an open book if she wants to be, even though she doesn't share what she really knows with words."

* * *

 _Thanks again for reading! Loved all your reviews and thoughts so far!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you so very much, Linda Wiggington, Karine, EvaMcBain2009, wotumba1, Mulderette, Guest, Skippy, F4llon, Hoosier65, JaniceS and BlackBear53 for leaving your lovely reviews! These weeks, writing was slower since I was spending some weeks abroad with hubby &boys._

* * *

 _Perhaps the summary doesn't really reveal what the story will tell…_

* * *

 **Dots, chapter 3**

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **the 405, direction of Van Nuys, near Beverly Hills || one and a half hour later**

She bit her under lip and heaved a deep sigh. Definitely a sign she was nervous.  
It was something Sam wasn't used to. In fact, he hardly remembered going on an assignment with the redhead co-worker. And a nervous Callen rarely happened, unless it was about being in the dark when it came to his family and history, or with the point of breaking up with a woman.

"Spit it out, Nell," Sam said, trying to ease her mind. "Cuz' you know, I don't blame you for this."

"Thanks."

It came out softer than he expected — maybe she was more nervous than he thought. Sam glanced at the young and petite junior co-worker in the passenger seat, riding shot-gun; the same seat where he'd really wanted to have his usual partner.

He rubbed his right hand while holding the steering wheel and kept his gaze at the busy traffic. "Why do you reckon Granger is pissed at Callen? Is it because he wasn't the usual first one to enter the office this week?"

"It's exactly what I think, Sam. Granger simply sent us off, so we won't be around to hear the macho characters try to beat the other one. Well, for one thing, Eric is around and he'll spoil whatever he needs to spoil."  
Her words came out nearly like he heard his daughter Kamran talking and Sam couldn't hide a short chuckle.

"Macho's, huh?"

She sat a bit straighter now and simply nodded. "Never mind. We're on a mission, you and I. Tell me, what do you think we'll find?"

This time, Sam shook his head nearly unnoticeable. "The usual stuff, I suppose. This guy Thomas Roberts might be killed in that alley in there, but we don't know how many people saw it. If any at all… Perhaps someone heard, saw or found something suspicious." He paused for a second, then chuckled again. "Just another day at the office, Nell."  
But meanwhile, Sam Hanna wasn't too sure of why Callen was ordered to stay at the office either.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Ops Center || Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles**

Callen chewed the inside of his cheeks as his blue eyes stared at the screen once again, while so many questions came up. "What made him visit Los Angeles, Owen? You knew the guy Roberts, don't you?"

Granger scraped his throat several times and he hummed at first. Then he finally answered "I do — I did. I mean, I knew who he was, but truth is I hardly know the man himself. Roberts was ehm, different from anyone of your LA team in here. Like nearly all teams are different from yours, agent Callen. Besides, Roberts wasn't a thrill seeker at all. I sure know he wasn't working under cover. The Diego team never does; you could compare them to Gibbs' team, I guess. Roberts would be like McGee, if you keep comparing him with one of the Washington team. The San Diego team is mostly kept busy with cases like arms smuggling, crimes amongst the sailors and cases that appear around the Naval base. The usual Jag-stuff."

Callen let Granger talk, listened carefully and shook his head just shortly. "So why Los Angeles? How did he get in to town, and who else knew?"

This time Granger nodded. "That's what your co-workers will tell you shortly. Of course I informed with the operations handler in there. All he could tell me was that the team was working on a case of human trafficking. But only since the day before yesterday, so quite recently. Maybe Roberts followed a lead, his handler told me."

He sensed the hesitation in what the assistant-director was telling. "You don't think he was the kind of man who followed a lead, to end up dead, beaten and tortured, in a dark alleyway near Van Nuys, do you?"

"I don't. That's why I sent Nell with your partner. She's sharp, like you and Hanna are, and will be even sharper wanting to prove herself."

His brown eyes were serious when he faced the senior agent. "Still, we do need answers. And if our medical examiner comes up with the answer that suits us best, you're going to be one of the other agents who can find out about the why here, why him and stuff like that."

Callen smirked, took the paper file which Eric must have left on the table for him and held it up. "Let's see if I can be a Roberts kind of man, right?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles**

Sam and Nell returned from their unfruitful mission over an hour after Callen had left to occupy an empty hospital room.

"Nothing." Sam shook his head when he reported to Granger. "No witnesses, no shell cases, no more proof than we didn't know of before."  
He eyed the four empty desks and gestured "Where's he? What did you tell him?"

A broad smile appeared on Granger's face. "What do you think, Hanna, I told your partner?"

"Hell, I don't know. I wasn't there, so how would I know?"

Granger nodded. "Go and check this with Eric. He's got a tracking device ready. Your partner is currently hospitalized in the Good Samaritan on Wilshire. Discuss the details of this case and make it work, Hanna. Remember the little boss of yours won't be pleased to find if I made the wrong decisions."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Good Samaritan, Wilshire Boulevard || Los Angeles, one hour later**

There was a frown deeper than Callen remembered and Sam spat "What were you thinking?"

"What do you mean?"

This time, there was no innocence or light banter like Sam was used to. Instead, the near exact copy of Roberts eyed his way. "You know we can do this, Sam."

"We?" Sam huffed. "Somehow I don't see the 'we' anywhere, G." He glared into the now dark brown eyes of his partner.

"Well, heck I do. I need you to have my back and you know it. C'mon, buddy… while you and Nell were looking for any clues which might've blown the case, I sat at the make-up department to get my face inked like this while I studied Roberts' life, love, weaknesses and career."

"And you found out what?"

"All we know is that Roberts and his team were working on a case and followed a lead on guns and ammo that went missing from the San Diego base. While you and Nell were on the move, Deeks called Granger about it. So far, their guess is as good as yours or mine. Probably material which is, ehm, exported to one of the cartels."

Sam chuckled shortly. "Exported. Nice way of saying it's smuggled to Mexico."

"Right. And why Roberts was in LA instead of San Diego is a mystery so far. We need to find out about that."

"You think he knew something his team didn't know?"

Callen shrugged. "Like I said, that's what I'm hoping to find out, buddy." He then smirked. "Well? Don't you think the make-up department did a great job?"

"Looks pretty real," Sam agreed. "Though I wonder what happens when you decide to take a shower, or, less likely, walk in a rainstorm?"

"Got that covered too. Ask Marlene how she did it. It's going to fade into greenish and yellow, gradually," he grinned. Then, more seriously, he asked "So, we're good?"

Sam hesitated a moment. "Don't know, G. It all sounds so easy, perhaps too goddamn easy. That's what's giving me the creeps. That, and the fact you're gonna be on your own."  
He then shook his head. Sure, his partner was good at what he did. Perhaps the best he'd seen so far. But somehow, there was this nagging feeling which took the upper hand. "G, listen. You're right and I think you know all you need to know. All, but what really matters."

A real Callen expression showed on the face in front of him — the raising of one eyebrow only. Cocky as ever, which worried the bald, dark skinned former Seal even more.

"Which is?"

"You don't know who's behind it and what they really want. Do you?"

It was quiet for a beat, then Callen chuckled. "Of course not. You gotta be kidding Sam, cuz that is the main reason I was going in as Roberts, remember?"

Sam sighed deeply, knowing he was defended by now. "Doesn't mean I have to like it, partner, even though I know you're going to be bugged."

Callen shook his head. "No direct bugs or cams this time. A GPS-tracker is all you'll have to work with."

"Put in where?" He didn't express his worries again — the way of working which Callen suggested was far from how Sam Hanna preferred to work. It was why he had been okay as a Seal, and why he was okay with working in a team and with his partner. All opposite of how he knew his partner had used to work before NCIS turned him into a team player after all those years.

"It's weaved into the hem of my shirt. New material ordered by Hetty." He kept the conversation light. "Bit like Q came up with new gadgets in the Bond movies, right?"

"Bond is immortal; you're not, G. And tracking you through GPS means I'll be able to have you're back, but always a few steps behind. Please keep that in mind, buddy."

* * *

 _Thank you all for reading. Hope you do take some time to leave a review!_


	4. Chapter 4

Again, I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you took the time to read and left some lovely reviews again, wotumba1, Karine, Mulderette, French Fan, Skippy, F4llon, JaniceS and BlackBear53

* * *

 _Let's find out how Callen and his team think they can solve this case!_

* * *

 **Dots, chapter 4**

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Good Samaritan || Los Angeles**

With Eric's efforts, there were lots of paper files to study. On the other hand, it hardly learned Callen anything about Thomas Roberts.  
At the age of 39, only three years ago, the man married Latoya May Murphy. This was his second marriage, since in 2002 he divorced his first wife, Paula Hill. There was information about the place he lived right now, and places he lived before. It was all in the files, information about education, career and relatives.

So far, no surprises, no suspicions. Nothing that would make Roberts vulnerable, except for his job.

Perhaps Deeks and Kensi would come back with some tiny tidbits after their visit to Roberts' family. Something which might help him in whatever lay ahead.

Callen got up for a cup of coffee from the thermos. The coffee from the hospital restaurant was far from fresh, but always better than nothing.

He tiredly rubbed his hands through his hair and suddenly realized that maybe he was too old for living the life he had during the past few months. He regretted the fact that he didn't sleep a bit more than he did lately and figured he should have visited less parties with Anna. After all, he'd done it most of all to please her. Not himself. He sighed deeply, once again not sure about how to handle a relationship like this.

His phone softly buzzed, and he was glad to read the message Eric Beale sent. Callen needed the distraction, but even better, the message was necessary for how he could continue with this operation.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles **

A high-pitched finger whistle sounded and Hetty watched with a satisfied nod as the team members looked up the balcony. "Please, do join me upstairs," she suggested.

They went for the daily routine: get up, leave their desks and take the 17 steps up. Most of the time, the sliding doors which led to the Ops Center were open already.  
Curious what Hetty was going to tell them, Sam, Deeks and Kensi entered the Ops Center one by one. Then, all of the team were together. All, except for Callen.

Henrietta Lange usually let the youngest member of her team, Nell Jones, explain a case or give an update. However, this time Hetty decided to let them know how Owen Granger and Callen had planned out everything in this case, and what Eric Beale and she had worked out so far.

She signed at Eric, who put a text message on the large screen and said "This communiqué just appeared in several local newspapers and in San Diego as well. Besides, there were short mentions and on KTLA and lalocaltv."

"In the meantime, it was broadcasted also on WWTL and NBCLA," Eric proudly mentioned.

"Like you say, Mr. Beale, like you say... Well, in short this communiqué — as you can take notice of later on your own devices — is the official announcement in which was stated that there is an Ncis agent from San Diego who is currently hospitalized after he was shot by an unknown person."

Kensi frowned. "But Roberts died. I mean, I was there and I noticed. So did Deeks and the LAPD guys. So, whoever shot him should know that Roberts did not survive, I suppose?"

"We don't know the shooter or shooters know what Roberts' current state is," Eric replied. He watched the tiny and often strict boss. She might be irked by the fact he interrupted, and he nervously fumbled with his glasses.  
"I called Rose, and her preliminary report says that the shooter probably didn't check or he would've finished it off differently. The impact of the bullets, Rose says, makes you think the first shot came from about 120 feet. Roberts was hit in his upper thigh, she thinks, which may have caused a sudden steering action. Which made his motorcycle unmanageable. So he crashes, hits the tarmac. The second and third shots were accidentally great hits, from the shooters point of view."  
He faced his audience, and before any of the team could speak, he continued, stammering since he realized he got a bit excited now he could share this information even Hetty and Granger were unaware of.  
"Of course, ehm, for Roberts, it was, ehm, too bad. Lethal, actually. But if anyone would have wanted to check, they'd shot him through the head or the heart, just to be sure. And they never did. Rose said Roberts might just as well have been luckier."

Granger scraped his throat. "Don't speak ill about the dead, Beale. But in fact, this outcome is a good one for our case."

It caused a giggle from Nell, and a chuckle from Deeks.

"What?" Granger asked.

Nell explained. "We wouldn't have a case if Roberts was simply hospitalized, I figure."

His brown eyes narrowed slightly as he understood what she meant. "Right. Well, I suggest Henrietta continues to explain what is going on and what is expected from our team. She will be the captain on this ship, since I am heading to San Diego to support the team in there."  
On that, he nodded to the people in front of him. He was going to miss them for the time being, but he would never tell them.

"Ooooh-kay…" Deeks said in a low voice, once the sliding doors had closed. "So, we've got a dead Ncis-agent, an assistant director who departs this department, and an agent in charge who isn't part of the team right now and therefor, is not in charge. Sure, I'd like an explanation."

Hetty inhaled when she started pointed out the case any further. "Yes, Mr. Deeks. I suppose you have deserved an explanation. From what we just told you, assistant director Granger and Mr. Callen worked hard to get this operation running. You know, and LAPD knows, that sadly enough, agent Roberts passed away. For now, I've contacted Bates. LAPD won't mention any lethal victims due to any shooting in the Van Nuys area at all. Nor will we. Which means that the only news which was shared in public mention what we just mentioned. An agent who was hospitalized after a shooting."

"So, the person who was responsible for this may believe that Thomas Roberts is still in a hospital in Los Angeles," Nell understood.

"Let me guess. This is related to the fact that Callen isn't around?" Kensi asked.

"Yep." Eric sounded very enthusiastic. "Actually it was Granger's idea, after realizing that on first sight, Callen and Roberts have some physical appearances in common."

"Had." Sam corrected the tech. "And you know just as well as I do that G can be whoever he wants to be."

"True. He even made my homeless-man-jacket look like real life," Deeks admitted. "But wait. So, Callen poses as this dead guy and all because of… what?"

"If you'd listened between the lines, you would have understood, Mr. Deeks, that our Mr. Callen poses as Roberts in an utmost attempt to get to those who killed Roberts, and to find out why those who did this."

"To lure them towards the hospital," Deeks understood.

"Actually, to lure them to somewhere outside the hospital," Sam grumbled.

"Why, Mr. Hanna… From how you mention this, I'd say you are not exactly fond of this planned action?"

His brown eyes were serious now. "Of course I'm not. No matter the way Callen is able to perform, I'd call this a far from logical action. He's not injured and whoever comes after him will notice this immediately."

"Will they, Mr. Hanna?" Hetty's voice sounded so sympathetic.

He huffed out his breath slowly. "Perhaps not. I mean, our make-up department did something great. And perhaps he can do a perfect impersonation, but…" He expressed his feelings by a slow shake of his head and the smallest of shrugs.

"You already met him?" Kensi was surprised.

"I did. And to be honest, I still am not that happy with what he and Granger planned."

"But if Callen would feel uncomfortable with it, he would never have agreed working like this, right?" Deeks brought up.

Sam knew he should agree with all of them. With Granger, who wasn't even around. With Deeks, with Hetty, with Eric, and of course, with Callen himself. Yet it itched, and he couldn't lay a finger on it.  
"He looks like Roberts, no doubt about it. And from what he told me, he intends to leave the hospital somewhere tomorrow."

"With a black eye and minor abrasions in his face and on his arms and hands, hips and knees. And three bullet wounds." Eric mentioned, his fingers performing the quotes in midair when he was talking about the bullet wounds. He then emphasized his confidence in the case.  
"With his experience, Callen knows how things like this feel. How to behave, how to walk and move — he knows."  
Eric Beale admired the way G. Callen walked through life, and he never missed an opportunity to let this know his co-workers.

Sam addressed the younger man in a softer voice. "He is not indestructible, Beale."

Eric reddened and started stammering. "I know… now, well, but it's Callen. And you know… you have seen him. He knows. Callen knows, Sam."

"And we've agreed on you having his back, Mr. Hanna. Without any doubt, I know Mr. Callen told you."

"Now, that is one of the weak parts of this plan of yours, Hetty."

Kensi frowned. "How can that be weak, Sam? This is what we do. Back up the team members, like we always do."

He nodded. "You're right. But this time it's different".

"Mr. Hanna is right, dear. This time we use GPS," Hetty mentioned.

"What?" Deeks exclaimed. "We have your button cams, the infamous earwigs, and —"

She shook her head. "No earwigs, no cams this time. This new material ought to be perfect. Owen had it recommended by Daniel LeBlanc, his peer at the CIA. Sam, what did your partner tell about tracking him?"

"Something about a new material which will not expose any of the usual spyware we use."

"But that's perfect, Sam!" Kensi expressed her enthusiasm.

"Nearly," he dared to admit. "I mean, indeed it will not betray Callen and we won't be cut off of any precious signals. However…" He huffed a soft sigh. "However, I, we, cannot be around as close as we usually are. He'll be just a dot on our screens. That's what's bothering me. Now, I've said it."

The tiny boss of the team shortly pursed her lips, and nodded slowly. "Thank you for expressing your worries, Mr. Hanna. But rest assure that CIA checked and tested this material long before we're using it."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **early afternoon next day, Good Samaritan || Los Angeles**

The sandy yellowish t-shirt with the blue hoodie, combined with a baggy, sand colored trousers were not the kind of clothes Callen wore in daily life. He even suspected that Hetty made a brand new purchase for this operation only. Or perhaps, he mused, Deeks asked for a set of spare clothes from Roberts' wife, just to tease him.

He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, easing his body immediately afterwards. He'd be able to mask the so-called wounds, wearing this. In the meantime the textile was soft and flexible, and moving around his legs and torso like a pair of sports clothes.

"You don't even look like Callen any longer," Nell Jones noticed.

He chuckled. "Have you met any mirrors today, Nell? This nurse's costume makes you look like, well, not like an intelligence analyst any longer either."

A short blush appeared on her face. "Well, it was Hetty's idea. Not mine."  
Professionally, she continued. "Mind you, you can take off the hoodie. Not the shirt. The secret is hidden in these layers."  
Her forefinger and thumb gently rubbed the lower seam of the shirt, which was sewn with a white layer, like the short sleeves and the neckline had too. "You'll never notice it. I mean, there's nothing I can feel. You tried it too?"

"Of couse I did."  
He squatted and tied the laces of the white, yet not shiny new, sneakers which completed his outfit and while doing so, he asked "No guns, Nell?"

She shook her head. "I figured — or well, we all did, actually, that Roberts never had any gun or other weapons the moment he took that motorcycle when he tried to escape from whoever it was he escaped from."

It made him feel more exposed than he expected, but Callen knew Nell was right. "Well then. If I were Roberts, like I will be in minutes from now, I'd sneak away from hospital, but not after some obvious actions. Of course, Roberts would have called home. Which I did. Anyone can check that, right?"

"All taken care of," Nell confirmed.

"Second phone call would have been to my superiors. Suppose they'd contact an NCIS agent and arranged a weapon for me? Like there was protection. Which nobody came to check, so far by the way. But let's imagine the make-belief LAPD officers had an agent-to-officer talk already and left to write their report at their office. They wouldn't come by and check on Roberts, if he was armed or not. Right?"  
He looked at his petite co-worker, his brown eyes meeting her with the twinkle Nell was used to notice in his ocean blues. Again, he chuckled when he stated "Nurses don't carry a firearm."

She wetted her lips now she fully understood what he was talking about. Then, she reached beneath her back. The white uniformed jacket had covered her Glock perfectly. She watched it and shrugged. "Not your choice of weaponry, I know. But it's better than nothing I suppose."

"Whenever there's a chance to change it for my own, I will. Thanks Nell," Callen said. He smiled confidently when he added "Here we go."

"Good luck," she nearly whispered as she watched him leave the room.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Of course he didn't know what to expect, or when, if anything was to happen at all.  
Callen took a deep breath the moment he left the long corridor and entered the elevator. He closed his eyes for a brief second and slowly breathed out through his nose as he concentrated on Thomas Roberts.

The very moment he looked up, G. Callen had disappeared.

Thomas Roberts nervously and curiously looked around, carefully checking the crowd around him inside the hospital.

Nothing.

Nothing so far, he corrected himself.

He moved slowly, after all he was supposed to be quite hurt. The elevator descended, three floors down and halting at every floor. More people entered it, people eager to escape the frantic rush, the smells of sweat, fear, perfume and antiseptics which mixed to a combination one would never appreciate. Then, the doors opened at the ground floor, and Wilshire Boulevard awaited.

From now on, he had to improvise. On his own. And he knew he could do this.

* * *

 _Well, he's pretty confident, isn't he? Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter!_


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for reviewing the previous chapter, as always. Hope you'll enjoy reading this update as well. Wrote it, threw it away, restarted and rewrote it until I was satisfied with the result.

* * *

A/N: French Fan: 17 steps was just a guess, since lots of staircases with a platform have… I never counted! Thank you for reading and leaving your reviews. That goes for all of you (974lk, Mulderette, JaniceS, F4llon, Blackbear, and Wotumba1), but especially those readers whom I cannot reply trough the fan-fiction site: Guest, French Fan, Linda Wiggington and Skippy.

* * *

 **Dots, part 5**

* * *

 **Wilshire Boulevard, Los Angeles**

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The combination of exhaust gases on Wilshire and the dry and warm Los Angeles air were okay with Callen. It was certainly much better than the air-conditioned but awkward smelly surroundings inside the hospital. Even though it was just for the show and to prepare for this case, Callen detested the one-and-a-half day he agreed to stay inside.

Only moments ago, he managed to convince Nell of the suggested way of being able to check on his whereabouts through GPS.  
Sure, the team was able to follow him, perhaps even better than usually. But there was no way of communicating like they were used to. This time, there were no moments he was about to forget that even private talk and the banter between him and Sam was picked up by his team-members. Well, they all had moments like that — all, except Eric and Nell, since they were only the receivers of every conversation and they shared only information when necessary.

At this moment however, Callen realized that he could only rely on the knowledge that Sam would be somehow near.

Slowly, he started walking in the direction of 6th street. The city map was nearly engraved in his memory and he decided he'd try and walk past the police station first. Safe place, safe way.

He needed to go for a certain routine. Not his, but Roberts', and it would be a routine which he wasn't used to.  
He wasn't in a hurry – on the contrary – and with each step he was more Roberts than Callen. And he figured that Roberts would want to get home and be with his wife in San Diego as fast as possible, so he would need the right way of transport.

So far, Eric had only let him know that he still hadn't found out hów Roberts had traveled from San Diego to Los Angeles. Most probably with a car, but not his own. Kensi and Deeks reported it was still stationed at Roberts' house. And it was clear enough that none of the agency's cars went missing.  
Best guess was a rental. But with the so-called wounds, would he be able to do this 130 miles by car?  
He mulled over these questions himself. Callen knew that he himself would be able to do that, and willing too if necessary. Cars with an automatic transmission would not hinder anyone who was hurt like Roberts was. In fact there were no other options. Public transportation would at least take 5 hours and included some transfers. No way Roberts would make that choice, not in his condition.

He hummed some sort of confirmation to himself.

First obvious place was Avis, closest to this place. If nothing out of the ordinary happened within the distance between the Good Samaritan and the Central Area LA Police Station, he decided he would try and take a cab and check with Avis.

There was one other option left. What if Roberts was taken hostage in San Diego and was driven to Los Angeles by an unknown party? He pushed away that nagging thought since he trusted Eric and Nell would find an answer to this question.

All he needed to do was to try and be Roberts, to try and act like Roberts and most of all, to hope he'd meet someone with the right answers at the right time.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles**

She observed the red dot which moved on the upper part of her desktop screen. "He moves slowly, doesn't he?"

He understood what she was talking about and a small comforting smile appeared on Sam's face. "He knows what he's doing, Kenz. This way he also knows we're able to follow him."  
He got up and grabbed his bag.

Kensi moved her gaze from the screen to the large senior agent. "Where are you going to?"

The smile had left his face, but he still managed to encourage the others. "I should be on my way now. Nell just texted. She will be back in about 20 minutes."

"Wait, wait. You're not going to work with her?" Deeks dropped the pencil his fingers were fiddling with, curious now.

"Hetty needs her around with Granger gone to San Diego. Besides, I'm pretty sure Nell will perform better with some intelligence work from within here at this moment."

Kensi looked around and noticed Hetty wasn't behind her desk. "She's with Eric?"  
On the short nod of the senior agent who now watched his smartphone better than his co-workers, she rolled her chair back and was on her feet immediately after.

"Move, partner. We need to know what it is that we can do right now."

"Oh, I can think of some things to do right now. Are you sure we need permission for that from the little Ninja?"

For a second, she was quiet. Then she hit her partner's biceps like only she could. "Get to work. And if you don't quit the dirty talk, be sure I suggest I'll be working with Sam for as long as this case will take."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Wilshire Boulevard, Los Angeles**

His thoughts were miles away — farther than he was himself in real life. Agent Thomas Roberts had come to Los Angeles with a purpose. One which had not come clear, not to Roberts' co-workers, neither to Callen or any of his team.

Who were the ones responsible for torturing Roberts, and why? Was his team able to find out about this?

And what if Sam was right and he was on a mission impossible, one too dangerous for him alone? He shook his head. He wouldn't take any risks - he would continuously be aware that Sam was around. Would try to work a routine which would be easy to keep up with for his team.  
In a split second he remembered a quote he once read 'If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine; it is lethal.' His task was to lure the one who was responsible for Roberts' torture and murder, straight into a trap. Their trap. Not his.

He was only feet away from the police station. If anything would happen, help was close. One of the positive things of moving this slow was that he could perfectly observe what was going on around him.  
Not a sign from his co-workers. Not a sign of anyone following him.

The only thing he did not notice, but sensed, was that someone was watching him.

* * *

 _a shorty, this chapter. However, I would love to hear from you if this story is going into the right direction :-)_  
 _Thanks for reading anyway!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Again, thank you so much for leaving your reviews to the previous chapter, wotumba1, F4llon, BlackBear53, Skippy, Guest, JaniceS, FrenchFan_

* * *

 **Dots, chapter 6**

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **LAPD, Rampart Police station || W6th street**

His gaze was automatically drawn to the at least twenty black and white cars which were parked next to the modern police station. Some irregular gaps between the cars — which meant officers were called out to be on the streets 'to protect and to serve' as the credo of the city was.  
The color scheme for those cars was the same all over the states, the credo was unique for Los Angeles. The neatly parked cars were mirrored in the glass facade of the building, each and every car with an unique number on the roof, printed in different fonts.

Something made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, which was as good as a solid warning. He couldn't lay a finger on it — it was just an inkling of something he noticed, perhaps a glimpse of a camera, or of something else. From the corners of his eyes he kept observing the place. Nothing suspicious so far.  
Why did he sense danger was coming from this place?  
Callen blamed himself for ignoring one of the least obvious reasons Roberts might have been on the run. What if he ran from the authorities, instead of expecting help from them?

Although no sane human being would draw a gun right in front of a police station, Callen simply understood that he had to. It had been what, only half an hour ago that Nell handed him her gun?  
Then, the very moment he grabbed it from the waistband of his trousers, someone started running from between the first couple of cars.

Who-ever this person was, he was fast. The man was taller than he himself was, and younger too, he estimated. It wasn't a police uniform he wore, but it might be a detective's set of clothes after all. Someone in a mint condition — with his long legs the other man breezed ahead of him on the sidewalk.

People looked up, made way or started running as well and Callen had to avoid bumping into an older woman, which gave the other man space and time to turn toward him.  
"Roberts!" he yelled, and he smiled as he pulled his gun and aimed it at him.

A shot rang, yet it came from the opposite direction. A sharp pain flashed through his hand and wrist and it made him drop the gun. In a reflex Callen squatted behind another car, watching how his gun had shove over the street, far beyond reach. There was no time to get it, not now.

More shots sounded, and much to his surprise the man he had been chasing dropped to the surface, not moving any longer.  
Sam's work? He peeked over the hood of the car but didn't notice Sam, nor the Challenger, nearby. Not Sam's usual way of shooting either, nor did he hear the standard warning of a federal agent or a policeman. This man was simply gunned down at the very moment he was going to kill 'Roberts'. Now who was he?

And why was he, Callen, hit but not killed?

He watched his wrist, which was bleeding heavier than he thought. The gun was nowhere near. He had not been the one who caught the man he had been chasing from the police station. That man had been trying to kill Roberts. Maybe he was the one who really killed Roberts, and rumour got that he failed. This might been another attempt, in which he failed again. It cost the killer's life, as he was killed by an unknown other person.

Callen silently cursed. How ignorant he had been. There were more players in the field, and this possibility had never popped up when he and Granger planned this action. Whatever this mission was about — there was more at stake than they imagined beforehand.

Anyone less experienced might get killed — like Robers had gotten himself killed, Callen understood.

Never mind he was posing as Roberts. Someone else killed the killer. Shutting him up, avoided the fact that this man would talk? Or was it someone Roberts worked with, trusted? Then why shoot him?

Callen looked around. He had to get away and let the team know what happened. No way they had expected something like this to happen, not now, not so fast. He didn't even know if Sam was near or not.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles **

He watched the bright red dot on the large screen. "What is going on, you think?" Eric nearly whispered so only Nell would pick up his words.

She shook her head, immediately brushing away some of the loose reddish hair from her face. "He should not be running around like this, not if he is posing like Roberts." She bit her lip. "I think we need to warn Hetty, and then Sam."

"Hetty knows, Miss Jones." A heavy sigh sounded from behind Nell and Henrietta Lange nodded. "Please do contact Mr. Hanna."

Her tiny and older hand followed the course the dot had followed so far — starting on the fourth floor of the Good Samaritan on Wilshire, then from the main entrance and exit crossing 6th street West, past the police station. All the time slow, like Roberts should be limping and walking in a slow pace. Then, the dot stopped for seconds, after which it sped a bit further, crossed the street again and hurried back in the direction of downtown Los Angeles.

"Mr. Beale?" She didn't await any response of the tech but ordered "Call LAPD and ask them to check on what went on in front of their desks. Or even better, have Captain Jeff Matthews contact me."

"Estimated time Sam reaches Good Samaritan is three minutes from now," Nell stated. She didn't feel like repeating the curses she heard from Sam who also noticed something was different from what Callen planned.

"Good… Good," was all she got as an answer.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **W 6th street || Los Angeles**

He ran back in the direction of the hospital, meanwhile looking around if someone else was near. Although he was glad he spotted nobody, Callen made a sudden move and hurried to the emergency backdoor of the visitor parking garage which belonged to the Good Samaritan.

The heavy door slammed close behind him and he slowly breathed out. The adrenaline had kept him going while his head was in a whirl with so many questions and assumptions.

This was the moment he should contact his co-workers. Once again, he cursed the fact that he agreed on not using any other communication apps but this GPS tracker.

He wanted and needed to pass a message to the team and to Granger, rather sooner than later. Granger was the assistant director after all, and he should know the players in the NCIS corps. By now Granger might know what mess Roberts had gotten himself into. Yet there wasn't an opportunity to share, unless he simply used a phone.

Nell handed him a plain burn phone earlier. With his right hand hurting like hell by now, he simply pressed the phone to his right elbow and pressed the number he knew by heart. No way they'd checked the phone —it didn't get any connection in this building. This time he swore out loud.

He decided to cross the parking garage and emerge on the street on the other side. Callen didn't care anymore about posing as Thomas Roberts. He simply wanted to get back to the office or contact them. Whatever Granger and he planned, the plan failed and solving this case needed a different approach.

He strode to the usual pedestrian exit, ignoring the cars and people around him to a certain level. Until he noticed somebody else, walking in the same pace as him. It was difficult to ignore.

"Callen, wait!"

It was the use of his own name that made him stop walking and he turned around. Who knew he would be in here, right now?

He realized it was one of the most stupid mistakes he made in his life so far, when he saw how the other man pointed a gun at him and the all too familiar single crack sounded, followed by a whining sound. And he recognized the sound and realized what it meant in only milliseconds before a sharp pain burned in his left side.  
The impact of the bullet made him stagger back for some seconds. He swore aloud as he noticed he was losing blood fast, knowing he needed to keep going to stay ahead to the other man.  
The dotted blood trail would betray him anyway.

Not only did it tell him he didn't escape this bullet, but also that what they had so carefully planned was no secret to others. This reached a level he never expected.

Sam would be near, he knew, but somehow he doubted it would be near enough to save his life this time.

He slid to a squat behind the wheels of a large SUV and wished he had his own gun with him, and use it, despite it would be with his left hand. There was no way to defend himself like he used to.

From further away he heard people screaming. Somehow they must have heard or seen what was going on. But this was LA, a city with a crime rate which was still too high — despite his own and his team's efforts. And of course no-one wanted to be the victim themselves.

Slow and heavy steps came his way. Not Sam's. Callen tried to hold his breath. Not that it helped anyway.

A dark-haired, but bolding man, now stood in front of him. The man was built too heavy for his age but he was still well-dressed.  
Callen tried to figure out where he saw this guy before. Cases came and cases went. Nothing seemed right, and he knew he was running out of time.

He counted a few seconds he thought that Sam might need to locate him. "Why? How did you know my name?"

A near bark sounded. "Sometimes intel travels faster than you or your precious agency may think. And let's just say sometimes we cannot allow your intervening, special agent G. Callen."

He watched – as in a movie and in slow motion – how this man pulled up his gun and pointed it at him. Years, faces, voices and cases flashed by, and still he didn't know. The only thing he knew that this was not the time or the way he expected to go. Still, he never looked away.

Until a soft voice sounded. "Drop the gun."

It sounded nearly polite. Callen glanced sideward just a second. The owner of the voice stood in a bright red spaghetti dress and on high heels, only some feet from the man with the gun.  
More serious now, she repeated "I said, drop the gun."

The man huffed a laugh, yet was distracted for a moment. In that very moment, the gun was kicked from his hands by the same woman.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Reviews are, as ever, very welcome!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you for leaving so many lovely reviews on the recent chapters. To Skippy and Linda and the anonymous reviewers: it means a lot to me to read the nice comments you've left, again!_

* * *

 **Dots, part 7**

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

This man was at least a head larger than the woman who attacked him, yet he was floored and out of action in a matter of seconds. Was it only surprise or a matter of practice?

Callen hardly paid attention to what actually happened and he was in no shape at all to assist the woman. Besides, it all happened so fast. It was as if he blinked his eyes twice and the situation had changed completely. The larger man who was about to shoot and kill him was no immediate danger anymore. He didn't know how and he didn't really care either.  
By now the pain and the shock took over the adrenaline of the sudden action. Then, there was the knowledge that it nearly had been too late this time. He studied his own wounds for a while before nausea hit his brain. Was it a glimpse of bone-tissue he caught sight of in his hand? His hand, which tried to cover the wound in his side. The warm and wet spot on his clothes made him realize he was still losing blood.

He fought hard to keep his focus on the here and now around him and on where he made a possible mistake. At the very moment Callen expected to be the next victim, she appeared as some guardian angel.  
Dark blond hair, very dark and large eyes and a very serious and determined look on her face. He wanted to ask how and why she eliminated the other man. Why make this decision, how did she know that he was a victim of a crime, and not this other man?

Yet there was a worried look in the nearly black eyes which Callen tried to focus on and she shook her head. "There's no need to talk."

More short sentences came his way.

"You'd better lie down."

A pause, then "I'm going to press this hard to try and stop the bleeding."

Maybe he hummed something as a confirmation, Callen didn't know.

He felt weak, nearly disorientated. His vision blurred, all felt foggy and there was a far-away, nearly ringing sound which made whatever it was that she said, hardly reach his brain.

She spoke again, calm actually. Not to him, but about him. Words like 'shot', 'emergency' and 'hospital' — he understood. It was all so logical. All about...  
He didn't know. It was too much to process anyway. He simply was soothed by the sound of her voice and he decided he could give in to the tiredness that took over his will to understand what was going on.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Good Samaritan Hospital parking garage**

Some people watched from a nearby distance what was going on. None, however, were giving a hand. It felt like minutes later to her that heavy steps came her way.  
She expected the paramedics and she looked up. Instead a large, bold man hurried her way. She reached for the gun she had kicked out of the hand of this other man, not sure if she needed to protect this other man right now.

"G!"

It sounded alarming and oddly enough, the man neglected her presence. In a split second, she decided not to let go her pink vest, not to take and aim the gun at the man, despite the fact he came so near.

"Stay where you are."  
She never raised her voice, nor did it crack or sound emotionally.

Sam slowed down, carefully raising his hands as if to show he never had any bad intentions. "It's okay. I'm a federal agent, and he is my partner."  
He squatted next to her, shocked to see his partner, pale and motionless on the tarmac. It reminded him of the 5th of May, yet there were less wounds.

She read the worry in his eyes and understood. She nodded and concentrated on what she was doing and said "He's lost quite a lot of blood. Paramedics are on their way. They should be here any minute now. If there's something else you feel like doing while you're waiting, please check on that man. Do you have handcuffs, like a police officer has?"

"Who is it?"

"Didn't ask for his ID. He was about to kill this man, your partner. I… well, couldn't let that happen, could I?"

He hummed as if he understood, yet he didn't. From the pocket of his jacket he took a set of zip-ties and grabbed the other man's wrists. Then he tied them behind the back of the still unconscious man. "I don't get it. G stopped him?"

She looked up and simply shook her head.  
Before she got a chance to explain, some paramedics hurried their way. In a matter of seconds, they took over the care for Callen and she got up and stepped back. Another paramedic arrived with two armed LAPD officers. They wanted to know what happened. Although he had not been around, Sam tried to describe what he had just heard.

"He was shot twice by this man."

"Only once as far as I can tell. I mean, I heard only one shot. The other man talked to him and he replied," she corrected.

"What were they talking about?" Sam asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I was too far away and I wasn't paying attention to it either, actually."

"So, both of these men have a story to tell. From what I can tell, this one will be the first to talk. How about we take him to our bureau?" One of the police-officers suggested.

"My co-worker is involved, so it means _my_ case. Perhaps it'd be better if we take him in."  
Sam took his phone to make the arrangements, although he paid more attention to the medics who were now putting Callen on a gurney.

"Fiji Way, 13669," he then simply mentioned to the police officers. He then hurried to follow the medics. "Wait, let me join you!"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Good Samaritan Hospital, fourth floor || one hour later**

Hetty watched the large senior agent pace the private waiting area nervously. Although she understood his current mood, she felt she needed to calm him down.

"He is going to be okay, Mr. Hanna. You heard what doctor Holbrook explained before he went to operate on your partner."

"I know," he grumbled.

"Now, now, Mr. Hanna. Something else is bothering you, and you'd better tell me," she tried.

He was quiet for a moment, but never stopped pacing until he finally found the right words. "This utterly stupid idea. Whose was it, yours, Granger's, or —"

She shook her head. "Now, it never was a stupid idea. And it was not mine, Sam. It was something the assistant director and your partner planned and which they thought was carefully plotted. It turned out it wasn't, but it's not something anyone can be blamed of, am I right?"

There still was a glare of something Hetty didn't recognize in the dark brown eyes of the former Seal.

"I should have been there to have his back."

She got it, the frustration he felt was finally clear to her and she nodded.  
"Yet we decided that you would be at a distance. So there would be not a single clue that the so-called Thomas Roberts was under protection of any other person."  
Hetty pursed her lips only shortly, a sign she understood but disagreed with Sam's way of reasoning.

"You may or may not blame me, or blame Granger or your partner. This is a decision we made, and some decisions turn out to be the wrong ones, Mr. Hanna. But there's no use to look back when there are too many things we need to find out. Am I right?"

He let out a deep sigh. "As ever."  
He paused for a beat. "This Martin Blake is CIA, Hetty. What was he thinking, shooting a fellow agent?"

This time, the older woman carefully chose her words. "I ordered miss Jones and Mr. Beale to check how trustworthy agent Thomas Roberts really was."

"You really think Blake had a reason to suspect Roberts? And if so, why not inform our agency, Hetty? I mean, CIA and NCIS aren't always trusting each other, but they could at least have taken care of this matter like we would have. Talk to the ones in charge, see if there are any other suspicions and question the person. There wouldn't have to be a shooting like this. And then, why wasn't CIA working in pairs? That way, there would always be a fellow agent as a witness."

From behind her round, deep purple glasses, she looked up at him. Then she slowly nodded. "Another thing we'd need to check. I suppose Mr. Deeks and miss Blye could take care of that matter."  
She took her phone from the small pocket of her jacket and got up while she was making the call to Deeks.

Some minutes later, she returned. Sam finally had stopped his nervous pacing and sat down, clearly thinking about what happened. Hetty took a seat next to him.

"Obviously, agent Blake is still not in a position to talk, but he sure will be questioned thoroughly by your co-workers. In the meantime, assistant director Granger will have a serious discussion with the CIA about this agent and his behavior."

"Any news about that victim of the deadly shooting then, the one outside near the LAPD office?"

She nodded a confirmation and said "He has been identified as Joachim Schiller. No legal address in town, nor anywhere else in the US, no green card, so LAPD contacted Homeland. All we know is that Schiller is from Argentina. We've got no idea why he was in town or why he was shot yet, nor if it was you partner who killed him or somebody else did. We'll have to wait for further ballistic research and more background information from Homeland. Miss Jones is working on this at this very moment."

Sam slowly breathed out and tried to keep he frustration he felt, hidden for his boss. "So we still have no answers at all right now. What do you think Callen found out so far?"

Hetty shook her head. "I really haven't got a clue, Mr. Hanna. After all, this case became very unpredictable in a matter of only one hour. This is far from what we've expected and perhaps Mr. Callen has some of the answers."  
She peeked at her watch. "He should be in from surgery in matter of minutes. We'll wait and will be with him when he wakes up. So far, all we can do is wait."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The carefully applied make-up was removed just as carefully, Sam noticed when he stood next to the bed his partner was in.  
Callen looked like Callen again, despite the fact that he was very pale. Anesthetics were still in charge of his body and it looked as if he was sound asleep.

The young doctor had invited them to see the patient and decided to explain to the two people who had patiently waited, what he saw and treated so far.  
"The wound in his side was a through-and-through, soft tissue only. We needed six stitches on the back, four in the front. From what I've noticed, he's had worse," the physician softly explained to Sam and Hetty.

They both nodded and Holbrook continued. "He'll be up and running in a few days from now. Then, there's the other wound."

"What about it?" Sam raised his voice just slightly, worried about the announcement.

The man scraped his throat. "We've noticed he is right-handed. A bullet can do quite a lot of damage to the tissue, the connective tissue and the bones in a hand."

"So?"

The young doctor swallowed again, quite impressed by the way the tiny woman looked at him. "His right hand will need some time to recover. Quite some time, actually."

Hetty's glare made him continue "Perhaps some weeks, with physical therapy."

"He won't like that. Not a bit." Sam mumbled, his gaze going over his partner's face, still relaxed at this moment.

"He's on a blood transfusion?" It wasn't a question, more like a simple deduction of what Hetty saw.

Holbrook nodded. "He's lost quite a lot of blood.

There was a small nod again, meant for no-one in particular. Then Hetty suggested "Would you be so kind as to disconnect the IV once the blood's gone through?"

On the shocked expression on the doctor's face, she explained "There's a sedative running as well, I suppose? He won't react well to that, and rest assure that none of your nurses will be able to handle that." She continued with a sympathetic smile "Like you said, he's had worse and I've been there, every single time. Once he's awake, we can discuss using capsules."

There was a soft sigh, yet the younger man made a note of this change of the planned procedure for the nurses and he then closed the drip of the small bag which hung on the standard pole. "Please do take a seat. It won't be long until he will wake up."

There was one wooden chair next to the bed, with a dark brown cushioned seat, which Sam offered to Hetty. He took one of the set of stools which stood next to the table and the wait continued.

* * *

 _Thank you so much for reading_


	8. Chapter 8

**Dots, part 8**

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Good Samaritan Hospital, fourth floor **

Since both Sam and Hetty were allowed to enter the recovery room, it took another full hour until Callen finally woke up. Luckily, the doctor had listened to Hetty's pleas — by now, there was only a fingertip sensor which monitored Callen's oxygen saturation.

There was some slow, uncontrolled shifting of the lead agent in his hospital bed which alerted the two of his visitors.

"You're with us, G?"

There was, of course, no immediate reply. Only minutes later, the clear blue eyes opened and Callen stared at his partner, frowning. Then he blinked several times and he looked around. A short glance at his surroundings made him grimace in distress.

"Mr. Callen?" It sounded nearly squeaky. "Your partner asked if you are awake?"  
Having said it, Hetty felt that it sounded as if she talked to the fifteen-year old Callen once again in situations when he tried to feign sickness so he could stay at home instead of go to school.

He nodded as a positive response, then scraped his throat and nearly croaked "How long?"

There was a short chuckle from his partner. "How about four hours or so?"  
The surprised look on Callen's face made him smile and he added "Really, G. You hardly even left this place to try and pretend to be Thomas Roberts and now you're back in here indeed. Transport to the hospital took less than ten minutes. Add it to the time the doctor needed to clean the wound in your left side abdomen and stitch it. You were fortunate enough that it only damaged some soft tissue."

"And a vein", Hetty interrupted. "Which is why the pole is here and the IV is still attached."

With one of his characteristic smiles, Sam continued. "You see? They finished and patched you up within about four hours since you and Nell parted. That's about an average round of holes on a golf court. But then, you wouldn't know that."

Callen blinked his eyes several times and heaved a deep sigh. He ignored the optimistic chit-chat of his partner and his eyes darted around the hospital room. He scanned the pole and the nearly empty bag on it, the slow and reddish drip affirming what Sam and Hetty just told him.

Then, there was the sudden shock when his gaze went over the rest of his body and he noticed the bandage which covered his right hand.

"How bad is it?"

He didn't see how Sam glanced at Hetty, neither the way he shrugged before he pondered on how he was going to explain.

"You'll probably be able to leave the hospital within the next day or so."

Callen shook his head. "Not what I asked."

"Well, dear boy," Hetty started while she carefully patted his left hand, "As Mr. Hanna just explained, the wound in your side will heal soon. Of course, you'll be kept away from field work until we know for sure you're fully recovered."  
She then lifted her hand as an order when she saw that Callen wanted to interrupt, and she continued: "And yes, that will take some time, since the damage on your hand appeared to be nastier than one might think. Time will tell how this will heal."

It was clear that the stress he experienced was building up. "HOW it will heal? What do you mean?"

"Perhaps we should ask doctor Holbrook to explain?" Sam tried.

"You're afraid to share?" His eyes were colder now, distancing himself from what it was all about: his friend, his boss, his family trying to sooth him, not wanting to hurt him.

She pursed her lips slightly, then Hetty nodded shortly. "Well then. There was some metacarpal bone damage, which Holbrook, the surgeon, fixed with a pin and a splint. No cast, so you can train the muscles in your right hand as soon as allowed."

He sighed and asked in a softer voice. "Anything else damaged?"

"Most probable some tendon and muscle. Time will tell, and so on, like I just explained." Hetty sighed just as deep as her favorite agent did only moments before.

Callen swallowed back a lump, worried about his field work for the near and further future right now. "Sure it's only temporarily?"

Both other people paused a beat. ""Only time will tell," Hetty repeated. She then patted his hand once again. "It most probably will."

"C'mon man, of course it will," Sam said. "You've got hit before and recovered from those moments as well."  
He really counted on it that Callen would be in the field with him in matter of some weeks only. Then, in an attempt to change the subject, he asked "How did you floor that Blake in your condition, by the way?"

There was a puzzled look in the clear blue eyes of his partner. "I didn't..." He paused in there and repeated "Blake?"

"Blake. Martin Blake, CIA."  
Only Sam noticed the short shake of the head of the operation manager, only seconds before she exclaimed "Oh bummer. Now I remember where I heard that name before."

She heaved a deep sigh and shook her head again, more or less as a sign to herself. Then, she turned to the senior agents of her team — one pair of clear blue eyes belonging to the man she had considered as a son so many years, and the serious brown ones sitting opposite of her. Nobody more loyal and a spirit for the team as a whole as Sam Hanna, Hetty realized.

Again, she breathed out aloud before she continued. "You see, Mr. Hanna, Mr. Callen… Martin Blake was the CIA officer who first tested the GPS system. That is at least what his supervisor said."

"So?" Callen said, sharp again and in the agent mode. "Blake is not the person who recommended this system to our agency himself, did he?"

"Not that I was aware of so far, Mr. Callen. And to be frankly, I still don't think he did."

"Any clues why Blake was after Roberts?" Sam asked.

It was quiet for a few seconds, then Callen replied "But he wasn't. That's what was weird. I mean, if he hadn't called my name, none of this would have happened, I think."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles || an hour later**

"You think she's going to blame you?" Nell nearly whispered to Deeks and Kensi. "I mean… If you had known what happened exactly, would you have changed your mind and played the game differently, right?"

The junior agents had interrogated Martin Blake, the CIA operative. That was until the CIA had practically breached the boathouse and demanded to let Blake go for further internal investigation to this matter.

Only half an hour earlier, Nell, and the others, had heard the voice of Hetty getting louder and nearly angry and they had all been able to overhear the phone call she made with the CIA's supervisor in town.

"It was… well, there was nothing we could do to stop them. Was there?" Deeks responded in a soft voice. Meanwhile, his eyes kept darting around, afraid that Hetty would hear what he said. Not that it was something which was untrue, though.

Kensi shook her head. "Blake never said a word. And I mean, we all supposed he was after Roberts. No wonder he didn't mention anything."  
She leaned back in her chair and stared at the now empty desk next to hers. Then she tilted her head slightly and asked "You still haven't got any camera feed, Eric?"

The technical operator watched the screen of the tablet he held as if some new pictures might come by whenever he started hard enough. "Nothing yet."  
It sounded nearly desperate.

"We should go and check the parking ourselves," Deeks suggested as he got up. "Come on, Fern. On your feet."

"Will we find anything Eric cannot?" She hesitated.

Her partner shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. It's more a matter of… well, do something which feels more useful than sitting here and wait until…" He sighed. The restlessness which he mostly could hide now hit the detective. "Well, with Sam still with Callen in the hospital, Hetty quarreling with the CIA, and these two magic masters of the MacBook who can manage themselves I feel like we need to do something."

She flashed him a smile and addressed Nell. "You think you're okay when we're away, doing something, Nell?"

"Uh-huh," the younger woman nodded.

Eric adjusted his glasses and copied the nod of Nell. "I'll keep you posted. If there's anything new you find or we find, it's so easy to keep in touch."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Good Samaritan Hospital, fourth floor || two hours later**

Deeks stepped inside the private hospital room and was surprised to find only Callen and Hetty. "Sam left?" He looked around and remarked "Rhetorical question, I agree."

"Why, look at the time Mr. Deeks. It's far past six o' clock and there are children involved in the Hanna house, as you know. So, yes, Mr. Hanna left to have a decent meal with his family. In fact, he left the moment I entered."

"And I'm too old for a babysitter." Callen softly added. "I just let Hetty know that there's no use to sit next to my bed. I'll be perfectly alright on my own."

Before Hetty got the chance to retort, Kensi held up a plain brown paper bag. "We may have found something. This was very near the place you were found and it may lead us to the woman who witnessed what was going on."  
She tried to ignore the still itchy feeling she had about not asking the right questions when she and Deeks had talked with Martin Blake.

"You haven't talked to her yet?"

"Nope, Callen. Obviously she didn't feel like talking. She was gone, simply left the spot. Don't ask me why," Deeks said. "With Sam paying more attention to you and Blake, the LAPD doing the same, nobody addressed her and she just left. Perhaps in a hurry, after leaving this."

Hetty took the bag from Kensi and peeked inside.

Callen tried to hoist his body higher up in the bed by using the bed trapeze. He winced in pain and slowly sunk back into the – in his opinion - too soft pillows. "How do you know it's hers?"

Kensi took a rubber glove from the pocket of her jacket and carefully pulled up a book from the bag to show her co-worker. "This. There are eight of those in this bag. 'Let's play', written by Macey Campbell. And there's more. We figure it's a script for a television show, the Blacklist."

"Can I have a look?" Callen asked.

"Hey man, we only just found it. We need to take it in for fingerprints if we care enough for this Campbell woman as a witness," Deeks said.

Hetty pursed her lips, then showed a short smile. "I suggest we could take the chance with this for once, Mr. Deeks. There'll be seven more copies left. That means seven possibilities the lab will find useful prints and find miss Campbell soon and ask her to leave a witness report. In the meantime, Mr. Callen in here will have something to kill time while he's not in a situation to do anything else but read a novel. I've heard the first of miss Campbell's novel, 'Let's Find', sold well."  
She nodded to Kensi, who then handed the book she held to Callen. "Where do you want it?"

With her question Callen experienced once again that his right hand was packed in a way he could not use it like he was used to. He simply shrugged and said "Nightstand will do fine."

The frustration hit and for once, he wished he could be alone. Still, he tried to hide it by closing his eyes.

"You're tired, buddy."

He hadn't expected Deeks to be the first to understand. Callen gently wiggled his neck and hummed some kind of confirmation.

"Let's go home, Princess."

Kensi understood and yawned. "Yeah. It's been a long day. We could go home, after we take this bag to the lab. And after we pick up something from the sushi-bar. Oh, and Callen, we'll drop by again, sometime tomorrow."  
She got up on her feet and followed her partner who left with a simple salute.

Again, Callen closed his eyes. All was quiet for a minute or so, then he couldn't stand it no more. "Really, Hetty. You should go home too. As I said, I don't need anyone to keep watch over me. I'll just sleep. So should you."

She carefully thought about his remark. "I see… Well, as miss Blye only just mentioned, it has been a long day. One with an unexpected outcome of this cover-op you and assistant director Granger planned. I might just as well inform the assistant director and ask for his thoughts about this unfortunate situation you find yourself in right now."  
She shuffled her tiny feet, took the large handbag from the arm of the chair she sat in and got up.  
"Well then, sleep well, dear boy."

"Will do so," he murmured. Then he heard how she left the room and softly closed the door behind her.

He waited a while, then opened his eyes and gazed at his right hand once again. He cursed aloud when he realized it hurt more than earlier that day. He sighed deeply and clenched his jaws.  
No drugs, he decided. No drugs, just try and let sleep come.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles || next morning**

One of the familiar whistles from Eric came from the balcony and a broad smile appeared on his face when he saw how Kensi and Deeks hurried up the stairs to join their junior intelligence co-workers. Only seconds later, Hetty was around as well.

"It worked. Dale and White went back at the parking garage, with a search warrant. They've required and got what we needed, the tapes. The official way, instead of us hacking around. Well, what I'm trying to say is that we've got the camera feed, Hetty," Nell ranted. Then she pointed at the screen.  
"See, here's Martin Blake keeping his gun leveled at Callen. I'm telling you this because from the camera's angle, we only see Callen."  
She gasped silently when, again, she struggled with the sight of the man she thought she was perhaps invincible, faced the evitable last shot. "That is where she suddenly shows up."

They watched the action they'd seen several times before.

"I enhanced this footage," Eric said. "And we let it run through face-rec."

"That won't be any reason to whistle us up, true?" Deeks said.

"No, and that is what made it so creepy. No ordinary hits from the system." Nell shook her head.

"Nothing. So we dug in deeper. Fingerprints on some of the books, which were all signed, by the way. Fingerprints didn't show in any of the usual systems."

"But I can feel a climax coming near," Kensi said.

Eric nodded. "You're right. Something finally showed up. This." Eric said as he pressed the 'enter' button.  
Nell continued. "Agent Marcia Schwarz, ICE, died in 2014. She was accidentally hit by a bullet during a hostage situation, Long Beach. She was probably shot while being used as a shield. Witnesses say that a Mexican gang was stopped by an undercover agent."

"So Callen was saved by a ghost." Eric spoke in a serious voice.

Kensi shook her head. "Oh, come on guys. Ghosts don't exist. So either your footage sucks—"

"Or miss Schwarz never died." Hetty concluded. She paused a beat, then said "Please let Sam know this, miss Jones. His visit to the publisher of these novels and the studios of ABS may not be necessary after all. I will contact my counter-piece at ICE and ask around."

* * *

 _Thank you, again, for reading. Your reviews are very welcome, as ever!_


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: Thank you, everyone who read, reviewed, favoured or follows this story. I tried to thank the ones who left a review, still I cannot do that personally when it comes to Guest, Skippy and Blackbear. So there's a wellmeant 'Thank You!' for all of you!_

* * *

 **Dots, chapter 9**

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Good Samaritan Hospital, fourth floor || 11.30 AM**

The sound of the Dire Straits' 'Brothers in Arms' reached his ears before Sam entered the hospital room late in the morning. A mild smile reached his eyes as he watched his partner. "You slept", he noted.

The short, nearly irritated expression left Callen's face within seconds and he tilted his head slightly when he nodded. "Not much else to do in here, is there? No gorgeous views, no exciting visitors either, no new cases, no fancy restaurants to have dinner—"

Sam raised his hands. "Right, I get it, pal. I was just wondering how you did it."  
There had been moments like this before, Sam visiting a hospital room, visiting his partner, and he hoped he would never get used to it. Still, he should have expected the behavior of Callen. Frustrated, though he would try and hide it. Bored.

"Anna read you a bed-time story?" Sam tried to joke.

Callen was silent, carefully avoiding his partner's investigating gaze.  
"I think her name was Lena," he said after a moment. "The nurse, I mean. And it was no bed-time story actually. It's called oxazepam and it was a perfect combination with another pillow and a little meditation."

"Wait. You were drugged?" Sam said.

Callen looked a bit uncomfortable. "I asked for it, actually."

He grabbed the remote which he placed on the comforter, studied it for a second and pressed a button. The upper part of his bed raised until his thumb left the button again, leaving him in a more upright position. Then he pressed another button which turned down the volume of the music.

Sam chuckled but shook his head immediately after that. "Dzjeez, G, I'd never hoped to see this, this... kinda routine you just showed. I guess I should've been there with you. This would never have happened if..."

"Ifs don't count, buddy. This happened. Guess I should've been less ignorant. Less confident too, perhaps."

"No more lone wolfing. Promise?"

This time a smirk appeared on Callen's face. "No promises. If this is what needs to be done, it's what we do. Together, or alone."

Sam nodded, although he still did not like the idea. He never had, but he knew his partner was right. Stubborn, but right.

"So, what do we know so far?" Callen wanted to know.

"You've been kept out of the loop?"

"Hetty's new policy. She insists that recovery is quicker when there's less work-related stress." Callen said. He sighed and paused a beat. "So?"

Sam hesitated for a while — he wasn't sure how to answer. If Hetty decided to keep things unknown for his partner, should he be the one to share any news about the case?

"You don't want to share?"

Callen sounded offended and Sam understood.

Sam pondered about this matter. "Listen. I didn't know Hetty had a rule like this nowadays, and in the meantime I don't want to break the rules either."

The clear blue eyes of his partner appeared to be even bluer with the dark blue hospital comforter, even though he looked smaller too now he lay in the bed. Of course Callen wanted to know more. It was his life that was endangered, his body which was hurt, so why not talk him into this matter?

"If I hadn't told you about Hetty's new ideas, you wouldn't have known. So, why not share?" Callen asked.

Sam exhaled deeply. As ever, Callen had his ways of persuading and persisting. "Well then. We may have found some clues about the writer of this book. Still, we are not hundred percent sure she is the same person who helped you and who may have overheard your discussion with Blake."

Callen shrugged. "Does it really matter what she saw and what she heard?"

"Blake was taken away by two other CIA spooks. Kensi and Deeks had to let him go. Which means we only have your word. So yeah, it matters. Not that we don't trust you, but you know the drill, buddy."

"Perfect. So if we won't find her and internal affairs comes in, I'd be out of the field even longer?"

Sam slowly got up from the uncomfortable chair, only to lean his broad shoulders against the wall and cross his arms in front of his body. "We're working on it, just to avoid things like that, you know. And remember there's the golden rule that you can't work on a case in which you are involved yourself."

His blue eyes held on Sam when Callen softly uttered his thoughts. "How difficult can it be to find a writer of a novel? Visit the publisher, show them the right papers and ask, or rather demand, the personal information. Done."

His head wobbled slightly when he heard his partner express exactly what he, Sam, just did. "Sounds pretty easy, right?"

"It sure does, buddy."

This time, Sam carefully avoided a straight gaze at his partner. He remained silent for a few moments.  
No matter what his thoughts were about Hetty's rules, he should go in and inform the team first, before he was informing his partner about the outcomes of his visit to the publisher. And he hated this.  
Finding Macey Campbell might prove to be less easy. Besides, Eric called in, only to tell him that there was new intel about this person of interest.  
"Well, let me visit the office. I'll drop by later this afternoon, see what we have by then, okay?"

"I'd appreciate that, big guy. Time goes by very slow in here. In fact, I think I may just as well join you to the office. The couch in there is quite inviting and a perfect alternative to this place."  
Callen chuckled when he noticed the expression of pure consternation on Sam's face. "Kidding, buddy. I was just kidding." He paused a beat and said. "See you later Sam. I'm curious about the progress you're making."

He was about to offer a fist bump, then Sam held it in. Not with that hand of his partner. Awkwardly, he switched into a wave and said "See ya, bro!"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

For Callen, the rest of the day passed by in a blur. Too many people entered his room. A dietitian to discuss dinner and next day's breakfast wishes, nurses to check on bandages, blood pressure and whatever it was they were checking, and even a physical therapist.  
He was pleasantly surprised to hear that what the man told him: instead of avoiding any movement of his right hand, he should practice his fingers as much as possible.

Although it hurt, he refused any further painkillers, knowing he should be able to handle whatever there was to handle.

He tried TV, but there wasn't anything which interested him. Daytime television was made for small children, old people or tea-drinking ladies, Callen figured. Not for bored, frustrated and wounded federal agents.  
For a while he hoped Anna would come by or just tried to contact him, but she didn't and he didn't feel like doing that either.

Callen finally took the novel which Kensi left the other day and started to read.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles || late afternoon**

She had not been able to get any briefing of the CIA about the internal interrogation of Martin Blake. Not from the local CIA director, nor through director Vance's intervention either.  
She could, and nearly let the frustration have the upper hand. Instead, Henrietta Lange decided to focus on the facts they had so far.  
Thomas Roberts, NCIS agent, fatal victim of a shooting in an alley, after a certain period of torturing. And another man who was shot in broad daylight, Joachim Schiller. He was pronounced dead at the scene only moments after he fired a shot at HER agent Callen.

She kept stirring the spoonful of honey in her tea, pondering over what the next steps of the team should be. When she finally decided, her tea was cold.

Hetty climbed the stairs and much to her surprise, she found the others of the team in there as well. Odd thing that she hadn't even noticed that the three members of her A-team returned from the field already.

She greeted them with a small but warm smile. "Is there any news we have on Roberts, Schiller or, coincidentally, on Blake?"

"Nothing so far. We've checked it all work relations, social media, phone records, bank accounts and even travel details." Nell explained. With a small sigh and a very serious face, she repeated "Nothing."

"Thing is, we still don't know about Roberts. No anomalies in his behavior in the team at all, his bank accounts look, well, like any bank account should look. And his wife says there's nothing which stood out," Kensi said, chewing her lip. "Yet, he was found in another city, tortured, escaped and shot to death."

"What if 'they', whoever they may be, took the wrong guy, found out after a proper way of trying to get him talking and decided to kill him anyway?" Deeks mentioned.

She pursed her lips when she thought about it. "Yes, go on please, Mr. Deeks? This is about Roberts."

"An Argentino chasing the 'other' Roberts and shooting him, getting shot and killed himself, what do you make of that, Marty?" Sam wanted to know. He heaved a deep sigh. "I don't know about you guys, but to me it seems we're getting nowhere."

"A mercenary perhaps?" Eric butted in.

"Good thinking, Mr. Beale," Hetty agreed. "With that in mind, can you let the systems running and checking on any local gangs or cartels from over the border who may hire Argentinians to do the dirty jobs here in town?"

The technical analyst studied the face of his partner in the Ops center. With a confirmative blink of her hazel eyes, Eric nodded. "Will do so, Hetty. Could I… Can we… Well, I did have a dinner-date." A short blush of annoyance appeared on his face and he hated it.

Now there was a broad, but short smile on the operations manager's face. "Dear Mr. Beale, I most certainly would not want to be in the way of anyone's personal life. I am pretty sure that with the right hits on the right buttons, you can have any system running."

"We could even have any positive outcomes of those searches sent to our phones," Nell said.

Hetty clapped her hands. "Well then, of you go! I trust the two of you have a great night."

"Correction. The four of us," Deeks said. "Kensi and I will keep an eye on those two. Just that you know, in case you'd get all kind of wrong ideas…"

She watched her team with pride as she turned to leave the Ops center. And she also heard the deep voice of Sam Hanna who followed her. "Hetty? A word with you, please?"

A barely noticeable nod came as a reply and she led the way to her desk, knowing the large senior agent would take a seat in the chair opposite of hers.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Hanna?"

He shrugged, not sure if she would appreciate what he was bringing forward. "About G," he started. "He said we're not… you prefer that we don't talk about this case?"

"Aha." The pale blue eyes stared wisely at him from behind her round glasses. "I see… Well, Mr. Hanna. As you know it is one of the golden rules that one is not to investigate any cases which are directly related to that persons personal situation. We all know this and we've always tried to live by that rule in here."

Sam gently smiled. "I know, but…"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "You and I know too well that Mr. Callen can be pretty stubborn when it comes to situations like this. After all, we remember cases like he decided he could intervene on a case which concerned the Comescus—"

"And he saved your life," Sam interrupted.

"He may or may not have done so," Hetty said. "Then there was Janvier, remember? And do keep in mind what he did trying to get that list of personal enemies of Arkady Kolcheck." She shook her head twice and continued with a chuckle "We should give him some time off, time to heal. I am pretty sure miss Kolcheck appreciates his presence as well, while we, in here, solve this case."

He hummed softly, then decided it wasn't up to him to tell Hetty that he suspected there might be trouble in paradise.

"Anything else, Mr. Hanna?"

"Not that I know of, Hetty. Promised G that I'd drop by after work, and share some thoughts. Not too sure now what to say and what I should keep to myself."

It was silent for a beat, then Hetty said "Tell him what we do know and let him chew on that. Perhaps Mr. Callen comes up with some reasoning we may use, after all."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading and reviewing!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Dots, chapter 10**

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 _A/N: Thank you again, all of you, for reading and reviewing the ninth chapter of this story. It took a while to update, because yeah, hurray, been away for some days and still feel like I'm in a relax-modus ;-)_

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Good Samaritan Hospital, fourth floor || 07.15 PM**

This time, all sounded quiet from the outside of the cubicle which was his partners private place for these days. Too quiet. For a while it worried the large man, so Sam's arm went behind his back to have his gun close at hand, just in case…

Carefully, he opened the door.

He felt how his shoulders relaxed when he saw how his partner sat as upright as possible, wearing in-ear headphones and reading a book.

Callen looked up and smiled as he got the headphones off. "Thought you forgot all about me, partner. Was about to go out and see my way to your place."

The bantering never left and Sam was grateful for it. He shook his head and raised his brows. "Nêh, no way I forgot about you! But I thought Michelle might be around already. She made you a special casserole."  
He then laughed out loud when he noticed the look of despair on Callen's face.

"Kidding, G, I was just kidding."

"Don't… What if Michelle ever finds out?"

Sam chuckled as a reply. "Bet you're far too sissy to tell her."

The smirk on Calen's face made him doubt it all of a sudden, and Sam changed the subject. "So, how're you doing?"

He shrugged and slowly nodded. "Not that bad."

As ever he kept the frustration close to the chest. It was true – things could have turned out ever so much worse. On the other hand, Callen was annoyed, and restless. He was unable to do what he was best at – work. Not only annoyance bothered him, there were worries too. What if his right hand would not heal properly — would he ever be able to work in the field?  
And hadn't Sam told him earlier that day that he wanted to discuss some recent information with 'the others' first? The others… his co-workers too, but since he was here, hospitalized, they were not working together. Sam was here as a friend, and hell, he appreciated that. Still, Callen figured he would be better off working with 'the others', with his team. He felt left out but he decided earlier that day that he was not going to show it.

Then, there was Anna…  
Callen left several messages on her cell. She answered only once, telling him she'd drop by soon and that she was about to take some time off to relax at some fancy Russian spa she, or her father, Arkady, had just found.  
Had he done something which embarrassed her? Did she think he was too boring, or too old, for her way of living?  
Come to think of it, hadn't he been the one who figured out that perhaps her lifestyle didn't really suit him? Never mind the sex, which was passionate and often wild —there had been lots of moments of disagreements. About work, about friends, about long nights, partying with people that were half his age… He heaved a deep sigh.

"That bad?" Sam asked, softer than before. He sensed there were things Callen was not going to share.

"Dunno," Callen confessed. "That hand is bothering me. A physical trainer came by earlier today and mentioned that it may turn out well though."  
He shrugged, not knowing for sure if he believed it or not. "They said it's a good thing I can move my fingers."  
He put his elbow on the bed rail in a way his forearm was raised upward and slowly wiggled the tops of his fingers, the only part which stood out from the bandages. "You see?"

"That's great man." Sam wasn't able to hide the relief he felt now he heard that news. No way he wanted any other partner to work with, permanently. Nor did he like the idea to be the team leader.

"About this case…" Callen tried.

"Nothing new about it… No red flags yet. No real clues. Eric and Nell have their systems comparing facts, figures or whatever when it comes to Roberts, Schiller and Blake. There has to be something that links them."

Callen frowned. "Guess so…"

Both men were silent for a while, then Callen said "What did Blake tell you? Did he have a reason to work alone?"

"He didn't confess anything. In fact, he hardly told Deeks and Kensi anything at all," Sam told his partner. "CIA picked him up only half an hour after we had him in the boatshed."

"Seriously… Sam. Why did you let him go? I mean, that guy knows more. Much more. I don't understand. Such an utterly stupid decision!"

He felt the tension building up. The way Callen's blue eyes pierced hard at his friend made that Sam felt he needed to defend the juniors of the team.  
"Listen, G. All Kensi and Deeks knew was that Blake attacked the so-called Roberts. That's what they assumed, that's what they wanted to know more of from Blake."

"Sure. You or Hetty should have informed them, yet you didn't."

Sam paused a beat, swallowing back the accusations which hit him hard. He then managed continue softer "Don't blame them, nor us. Listen, G… there's nothing any of us wants more than to have you back with us. Rest assure the others feel the same and will do anything within our power to solve this case."

Callen remained silent.

"Stonewalling won't work." Sam said.  
The light discussions which the two of them started was gone completely and he truly detested discussions like this. Never mind the knowledge that Callen was irritated and frustrated; Sam did not like nor really accept the way the other man was insulting his coworkers.  
Still, there was no response from the younger agent in charge.

"I came here to share the latest intel, buddy. Instead, you feel like you need to distrust your own team. Listen, Michelle and Kamran await me for a nice and warm family dinner. I told them I'd be home soon, but that I wanted to see you first. But now… you're behaving like a fifteen year old, man."

Callen huffed in reply, but didn't speak.

"Hetty will drop by later. Perhaps you should share your sunny mood with her." He got up from his chair and walked to the door, his shoulders slumped.

"Sam… wait."

He turned to the other man in the hospital bed, who now swallowed back a lump and part of his anger.

"Listen, of course you're working hard. It's just that…"

Sam smiled shortly. He felt sympathy for his friend who hated it to be left out and to be hospitalized. "I get it."

"Do you?"

On the nod which came as a confirmation, Callen slowly shook his head and said "I could have joined you earlier today, shared my thoughts with you, work with you. Instead I'm actually kept locked up in here. Really, this place sucks. The continuous rush of nurses and doctors. Tests they need to have done and I don't even know for which purpose. Needles, medication… I can't stand it. Simply can't stand it."

Sam shook his head and dimples appeared in his cheeks with the smile that lightened up his face. "And so you're trying another escape plan, by begging me to escort you out of here? Man, don't you dare!"

Callen shrugged. "There's hardly any reason to stay in this place any longer. Guess they're letting me go tomorrow morning anyway."

"Therefor, mister Callen, I suggest you have another good night of sleep in here. And as for the plans which you just shared with your partner in here, there's a definite 'no' as an answer."

The tiny woman stood in the door opening and sent a warm smile towards both men. She added "A no it is, Mr. Callen. You, of all people, should know there is a rule when it comes to investigate one's own case. And I intend to keep it like that. So, if any of the physicians decides to let you go, I suggest you will go for an extended sick leave for let's say another week."

He was about to object, but Hetty shook her head and motioned him off. She then repeated "One more week, Mr. Callen. I'm sure you will find someone who will take care of you."

Callen understood it was useless to protest. He knew what she meant, and who, and he decided not to talk about it. Instead, he asked "You found any witnesses yet? Anyone who heard or saw something?"

"Nope. And this, ehm, this Macey Campbell sure knows how to stay under the radar. I visited her publisher earlier this morning." Sam smiled at Callen "Like you suggested too."

"And?"

"Miss Campbell prefers to stay far from the public, apparently. Mr. Hanna paid another visit, to one of the TV studios in town. Again, without any results. All that we know of is that she has her royalties been sent over to a post office in Burbank. There's little we know of her."

"Yet you figure we need her?"

Hetty pursed her lips, then after a second she replied "We're not sure whether or not we need Macey Campbell, Mr. Callen. I seriously doubt it she has anything valuable to share with us."

Callen understood, or at least he thought he did. Then he frowned and agreed "There was little she may have heard. Unless… You remember that Blake wasn't after Roberts, right? I'm pretty sure I told you, yesterday. There was something he mentioned that triggers me; that 'they' could not allow my intervention."

"Wait… so CIA is scared of something you might have found out? About what — the Roberts' case?" Sam asked, curious now.

"Well, well… Now there's something we might focus on tomorrow. Is there anything else, Mr. Callen? Anything you saw, heard?"

He tried hard, but shook his head. "Nothing I can remember, Hetty. Now, about tomorrow…"

She shook her head. "Still a no, Mr. Callen. I do not, and I repeat, I do not want to see you anywhere in or near the office. One week, Mr. Callen. Find some indulgence. Catch some sunshine and take some time to smell the roses." Hetty winked once, expecting he would know exactly what she meant.

There was a soft chuckle from his partner. "Oh boy…"

Callen, on the other hand, managed a smile which never reached his eyes. "Will do my utmost, Hetty."

His friend and his mentor both got up, softly grinning and thinking they arranged it all so well. He heard their mumbling once they left the room, and he shook his head.

After a while, he took the novel he hadn't finished yet.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **April 15** **th** **, 10.19 AM || Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles**

The large posture of the man she had wished a good night at the hospital exit the day before, sat in the chair opposite of hers. His elbows rested at her desk as he demanded "Why didn't you tell him, Hetty? Sure he's got a right to know…"

She sipped some of the plain rooibos tea, thinking how she could explain this to him. "He'd clutch it and dig into the matter until he would know more of it. Like I mentioned last night, he needs a break."

"I dunno, Hetty. He hasn't mentioned it, but…"

"But?"

Sam scratched his arm, a sign something bothered him. He hesitated for a second. His partner usually was the one with the gut feeling, but this time he experienced it too. "Anna. I don't know, but I've got a feeling there's a break-up coming."

She put her cup down carefully, and was about to reply. Then one of the piercing whistles from the balcony sounded, and Eric motioned that they were expected for a session of new intel.

Nell stood closest to the large screen and, after they came in one by one, she was the one who started to explain. "We're positive that Marcia Schwarz adopted a new identity. Indeed — Macey Campbell."

Eric carried on. "We're not sure though whose decision it was, hers or ICE's. In fact, it was ICE who decided it would be best to keep her 'dead'" – Eric quoted with his fingers – "because they weren't sure who was behind the attack back in 2014."

"We've gone through several witness reports. We've found that two women who were around at the time stated that they heard something about the CIA. Which is odd, since agent Marcia Schwartz never worked for them," Nell added. A bit more excited she said "ICE claim she suffered from a severe memory loss, even when she left hospital. They put her in protected custody, and that is all which was shared so far."

"Which is awesome little," Deeks said.

"And there you are so very right, Mr. Deeks." Hetty commented on his words. "So I checked with someone within ICE, a former fieldworker himself as well. He mentioned that at the time special agent Marcia Schwartz was declared dead, she had been working undercover over three months. Her partner at that time, Pete Jones, was found killed at only half a mile from the scene. Stabbed to dead, like miss Schwartz was about to be, until a sniper decided to use a different modus. And of course I checked with the CIA as well."

She paused, until Nell dared to ask "What about them?"

"That's part of the story which we need to unravel, dear". Hetty angled her face to the things she saw on the screen. Then she slowly shook her head. "Like you mentioned, miss Schwartz never worked for CIA. However, my contact at ICE has some serious doubts about the role CIA had during the time this happened. Even so, it was not something Vanderhilt of ICE wanted to discuss by phone. So, Mr. Hanna, you and I will have a serious discussion with Vanderhilt in the boathouse. Meanwhile, Miss Blye and Mr. Deeks, I suggest the two will check with Miss Jones and Mr. Beale in here if there are any of the witnesses still to be found in town, and if so, you will them a visit and see if there are any files they are willing to share with us."

"Blake is CIA. Shouldn't we see what they want to share of their internal questioning?" Kensi wanted to know.

This time, Hetty heaved a deep sigh. She knew she had to share the information at a given moment today, and she also knew that this elite team she'd gathered would not like to hear it.  
"Though as much as I would like to, miss Blye, I'm afraid this won't be possible. You see, earlier this morning, local CIA director Harrison informed director Vance about very delicate matter which CIA prefer to keep within their walls. However, director Vance decided that he could and had to share this information. It turns out, ladies and gentlemen, that the two CIA officers never brought Blake in. The three of them have gone missing."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **April 15** **th** **, 10.30 AM || Good Samaritan Hospital**

Shrugging himself into a jacket seemed an ordinary movement. Stretching his left arm backwards to put it through the sleeve, however, pulled the stitches of the wound in his side and he flinched a short moment. Callen was grateful for the fact he wore easy Chelsea boots. It meant he did not have to tie shoelaces, which, in his condition, he was not able to do.

Until late last night, Callen hadn't decided what to do yet. But he made a decision, which was partly like Hetty ordered. No going back to the office. He huffed shortly on the unspoken suggestion that Anna would take care of him.  
Not very likely.  
Callen was not suited to be a family man. Hetty knew about his past and the lack of someone to fall back on. It was the main reason she kept hinting about a relationship with Anna, or earlier, with Joelle. And although he realized that he would be more than welcome in the Hanna house, Callen was aware that Sam would feel embarrassed that he could work on the case while his friend was not allowed to.

If ever Callen had a day off of work, he'd go swimming, or surfing. But in his current condition, surfing wasn't very likely either. Nor would running on the beach be. And he sure wasn't the kind of man to stay at home and watch TV. In fact, he didn't own a TV.

He smiled to himself now he was about to leave the hospital. He was a man with a mission now. In fact, it was because he endured those boring days in a hospital. He'd read, and knew where to go to.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **April 15** **th** **, 2.30 PM || Twin Peaks**

Looking back, driving a car in his condition was something Callen would in fact describe as quite naïve. Especially the road from San Bernardino to Arrowhead, the Rim of the World highway, had been challenging, notwithstanding the powerful Mercedes motor of the SUV he rented. Driving left-handed only was trying and hard.

The route would've likely taken him about two hours, yet in his condition it took him over two and a half hour. Never mind, it was supposed to be time off and he was in no real hurry. He checked in at the Lake Arrowhead Resort and Spa and decided to start his search after an afternoon coffee.

It was a good thing that in his line of work, describing other persons was essential. He might just as well try with the couple who worked at the reception area.

"I wonder if you know Macey, Macey Campbell?" He tried. "We, ehm, we worked together a while." Callen let his gaze go over the great views on his left, and sighed softly, as if to show these people he felt a bit embarrassed.

The older woman, still taking care of her looks, with salt and pepper colored hair which was cut short, and the nearly white haired man with a well-trimmed short beard, eyed him as an encouragement.

He grabbed the chance. "You see, we were about to meet later this week, in here. I arrived a bit early, as you can see, but I wouldn't even know how to contact her."

Callen paused a beat, then continued. "Macey… Well, she's in her early thirties. Dark blond hair, cut in, how do women call it, layered. And she wears it at shoulder length. Nearly black eyes, high cheekbones, wide mouth…" He practiced during the long and slow drive from the busy Los Angeles traffic to the quiet surroundings in the sierras. "She's a writer," he added.

"Sounds like that shy one from the conference center, don't you think, Joe?" The older woman asked, expecting some confirmation from her husband.

The man narrowed his eyes and brushed his greyish beard several times before he hummed. Then he nodded. "Perhaps. Didn't know she's a writer though. Yet it doesn't really surprise me, to be honest."

"She wears it shorter now than in the past." The woman interrupted. "Her hair, I mean."

"Like I said, Helen. All-in all, yes, I think it could be Macey."

A near hit, Callen figured. He did manage to hide his surprise though. "She lives in town?"

The older couple looked at each other, then both shrugged. "I wouldn't know," the woman said. "You may want to ask around, someone will know. She's a writer, you said?"

Callen nodded. "Quite a good one too. Her editor just sent me over for some special interview. Heard she's not bragging about her career at all."

"Like I said; it could be Macey indeed", the man repeated. "I suggest you ask at the conference center. It's a 10 minutes' drive from here. And y'know how it is, they all know each other."

Callen nodded. "Will do so. Thanks for your help anyway."

He finished his coffee and wondered whether or not he should ask for her in a different part of town. He could wait for tomorrow morning and enjoy his stay in this hotel.

But he decided there was no use waiting, he simply wasn't the kind of person who sat back and enjoy the views.


	11. Chapter 11

**Dots, part 11**

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 _A/N Haven't even had the time to thank you all personally for reading the previous chapter, and reviewing it. So, this is the best place to do so, Linda, Wotumba, Vicki, Guests, Mulderette, Skippy and Janice - thank you all so much for leaving your thoughts. Love them, and it keeps me sharp! I sure hope you like what is going on in this chapter too._

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Christian Conference Centre, Twin Peaks || April, 15 || 4 in the afternoon**

It was an easy place to find, like the older couple had explained.  
Callen had decided to visit this small village to relax, and most of all to thank Macey Campbell for saving his life, days before. He'd hand her the book he'd read, and compliment her for writing it. Callen had never been an avid lover of reading fiction – he preferred facts over fiction. Still, he appreciated how she, the writer of this novel he read, had a very vivid imagination and he could almost envision a storyline like she had trusted to the printed paper.

From the CA-189, a smaller way led to the Conference Centre. He noticed the dark blue van which was parked on the way itself. He drove passed it and entered the public parking.

He drove the dark grey Mercedes on the parking, the hood in the direction of the public pathway where the van was parked.

He eyed over the other cars which were parked neatly in a row. Then he started to wonder why the driver of the Ford Transit had chosen a different spot. His gaze went over the van once again. Driver and at least one passenger were still inside.  
Callen narrowed his eyes, instantly changing into the agent mode that he meant to leave back in LA. It was his gut feel that something was going on which was beyond what he knew.

Callen looked around in his car. A baseball cap. The clipboard from the renting company... intuition, a bit of MacGyver, and time that still was on his side.

He got out of his car as naturally as possible. Even in plain sight he knew that he could be whoever he wanted to be, that he would look like he wanted to look: like someone who was to make some kind of arrangements.

The reception area of the Conference Centre was nearly empty, except for two well-dressed men who were discussing the program for the next morning and a woman who made notes on a tablet while nodding or shaking her head, depending on the suggestions she heard.

"How may I help you, sir?"  
A young man behind the reception desk addressed him like he probably would approach every visitor. He wore a marine blue jacket and a crisp white shirt, and a name tag which read 'Kyle – staff member'.

Callen smiled back. "As a matter of fact, I'm looking for Macey, Macey Campbell. She's a writer. You know her?"

The receptionist let his gaze go over the other man's face. "Who's asking?"

Callen shook his head and leaned forward, flashing his badge to the receptionist, unnoticed for the other people around. "NCIS, federal agency. So... Kyle, what can you tell me about her?"

The receptionist reddened shortly. "I ehm, I... Yes. Macey. I know her. She works her, during the season. Mostly in the evenings. And, ehm, she is about to start to work later today, at six."

He let the information sink in, then he replied "So, what I want you to do, Kyle, is to call her. Call her and tell her she should stay at home. Tell her—" Callen hesitated a second. "Tell her I am coming over."

Kyle shook his head. "Cannot do that, sir. I mean, I'm just one of the staff. So is she. I can't give orders like that, only mister Preisler can. And I am supposed to go shopping with my mum, sir. Macey is supposed to be here, so..."

Callen shook his head and let his glance go over the now excited face of the man. "Listen Kyle, if you like Macey as a co-worker, you'd better call her, or even better, give me her number and let me call her."

On the next shake of the younger man's head, Callen motioned as to stop more excuses and explanations, but Kyle continued in a soft voice nevertheless "There was another man, earlier, who asked for her. Told him the same. I think they're still waiting too, sir. When I asked why, they told me they had a job-offer for her. So, yeah, Macey's a good person, quiet, but she's a hard worker and she does have a sense of humor. I wouldn't want her to leave."

He had an apologetic look on his face, carefully looking around if his boss was around. Then he reached for the desk phone and muttered "I dial, you talk. Okay?"

There was a short smirk on Callen's face, simply because he empathized with the younger man. It was like Eric in the office who was not sure if Hetty was around or not… He gestured his appreciation and took the receiver once the number was dialed.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Los Angeles, Boathouse || April 15** **th** **, 2.15 PM**

Sam focused on the color of the Dragonwell Longwing green tea. Was it dark enough to serve, or should he wait another minute? No way he could simply shake the tea-holder just to add the color as soon as possible. No way… Hetty would notice and reprimand him for it.

He glanced at the older woman who sat at the large table. For the eye of the beholder, she looked very relaxed. Yet he knew she needed some information which she could literally extract from somebody, just by reading one's face.

Lucien Vanderhilt was sitting in one of the chairs next to Hetty. Not opposite of her. Just one of the tricks. Not threatening, on the contrary.  
The man was built like a marathon-runner – slender, nearly meager - and probably just a little younger than Sam was himself.

Sam served Hetty tea in one of the cups he found in the cupboard. One less frivolous than she used in her own office, still, it was all feminine. Vanderhilt preferred coffee, like he did himself. He took a chair, facing both the others.

The guest was like Owen Granger's equivalent, the assistant director of ICE. He sipped twice from the cup he held between his hands. Then he put the cup down again and started to speak as he still stared at the remains of the dark brown liquid in it.  
"She was one of the talented agents we had. A war veteran too, by the way." He paused a beat and looked up as he continued and summed up. "A very young second Lieutenant in Fallujah, during Al-Fajr. Worked in Bagdad, the Green Zone, for a full year and then, when we — we as being the US, of course — were withdrawing already, in Mosul. No places one would live happily, especially not when you're working for the US Army. Even worse for a woman. Not a scratch though. Not a single one we found when she applied for a job at our agency early 2010. She was one of the agents with great potential and she actually was one of the better ones in the special operations division. Worked with a partner, Pete Jones. He was killed during her last operation for our agency."

Hetty nodded. "I see."  
It was all she said, and Sam wondered if she didn't already know all that Vanderhilt just summarized. He sure didn't, but then, Hetty always was the one with unexpected information in paper files, which she didn't always share with the team. He decided to wait just like his boss did.

It felt rather uneasy and Vanderhilt obviously felt it too. Again, he lifted his cup of coffee and blew above it. He waited some seconds and took two slow sips.

"Anything else, perhaps, that you wanted to share?" Hetty asked politely like Sam knew she could.

He wondered what it was this man had told Hetty that he preferred to say in private, and not through the phone.

Vanderhilt looked up, again. "Why are you asking so specifically, mrs. Lange?"

"Miss Lange," Hetty corrected, smiling politely though. "It was you who mentioned the CIA".

The man inhaled deeply, then slowly breathed out. Then he nodded. "It's a long story."

Sam chuckled. "Any chance we get the summary?"

With this comment, Vanderhilt softly grinned. "I'll try, okay? Now, where do I start. Marcia Schwartz worked undercover. We were able to track her all the time, yet we don't exactly know what happened. Like I mentioned, her partner was killed near the perimeter where agent Schwartz was, how shall I say… where Schwartz was staying."

"And she was staying where?" Sam asked.

"Kept imprisoned with about 30 women and girls in a shipping container for about 4 full days. After she lived amongst the citizens of a small Mexican village and managed to get abducted. Most girls and women never expected something like this to happen. She did, though. She knew exactly what was going on, yet she underwent it all - voluntarily. Did this so we could smoke out the ones who arranged this kind of shipments from Mexico to the US. We figured it was La Eme."

He swallowed and took another slow sip of his coffee. Probably the last bit. Then, he sighed once and nodded. "Three women died during the voyage. Two were shot. Whoever opened that container knew there was an agent inside. And in the end, somebody wanted to prevent her from telling what was going on. And they succeeded, nearly."

"From what we were told, agent Schwartz had a memory loss," Sam said.

"I don't know. I really don't," Vanderhilt replied. "She had a bad head wound indeed. Stabbed, though never life-threatening. The one who wanted to stab her to death, like her partner had been, was shot. But only after agent Schwartz was shot herself. She was out for a few minutes, then shortly conscious. It was then when she told me CIA was responsible for it all. Even gave me a name."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Christian Conference Centre, Twin Peaks || April, 15 || 4 in the afternoon**

She hadn't been that keen on hearing his idea of visiting. Callen had sensed her reluctance, but he prodded long enough for her to finally give in.  
He figured he'd better wait explaining what he thought went on until a face-to-face conversation.

First things first… he decided to leave the parking lot and call in to the analysts by speakerphone. All he needed to do was to ask his phone to dial the right number. It took only two buzzes for Eric to take the call.  
"Hey Eric, it's Callen speaking. Could you do me a favor please and do a quick check on a number plate? Texas plate, COD-0626, belonging to a blue van, Ford Transit".

The technical analyst replied immediately, as if it were no surprise that Callen called."Will do so. Oh, and Callen? Hetty is asking for you." Eric nearly whispered, as if he expected the tiny boss to intervene any moment.

He should have known she would recognize his incoming number too. "She knows I'm on a leave, a kind of sick leave, I suppose. In fact, she's the one who decided I still am. Could you just tell her I am—"

"Mr. Callen," Hetty interrupted. "In case you're wondering about that decision, be aware that there is still plenty of paperwork waiting for you on your desk. It would keep you from intervening on this case we're still working on. However, I do appreciate that you decided to enjoy a trip on the countryside."  
Her voice sounded less irritated than he expected and he figured she already knew of his whereabouts.

It was Eric who now interrupted their discussion. "Callen, listen up, that Ford Transit belongs to Juan Zorgietto. You must know him, from that case in San Diego, where you busted him."

Of course he remembered. Zorgietto was La Eme, a Mexican mobsters' boss, working from US-soil. And although he got caught at the scene, he had to be released only hours after, by orders of the DOD. "Crap. What is he doing in here?"

"Whatever it is, Mr. Callen, trade carefully."

"Well, whatever it is, I need to find out what they're doing in here. How the hell did they know I was going to be around?"

Hetty inhaled deep when she responded "May I remind you of the fact that you are on sick leave only and certainly not in the best shape for any action. Whatever it is that is going on, for heaven's sake, let it go. If , and I repeat, if I decide to send over your team, it would take us another five hours to reassess this matter. I suggest you stay put until they have arrived."

"I've done this dance before, Hetty. Will find a place to stay and I'll keep in touch." With that, he ended the call.

In Los Angeles, the operation manager sighed deeply. She realized that again, the agent in charge won this part of the bargain. He'd leave breadcrumbs, that, she was sure of. Besides, Eric would be able to trace his phone. Still, the worry grew that there was something going on that was bigger than they knew of indeed.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Twin Peaks, Cedar Brook Drive || April, 15 || 4.15 in the afternoon**

Callen slowly drove past the tiny house where he was expected to be. Nobody followed him and still, there were no noticeable threats.  
He slowed down even more, put the car in reverse and parked it opposite of the house. It was wooden house, situated much lower than street level and with a front garden which was at least 50 feet deep. It was painted in a pale gray color which contrasted with the red roof tiles.  
Tiny, but well taken care of.

Gingerly, he got out of his car, taking the bag with the novel he read with him. Again, he observed the surroundings, but nothing stood out.  
He walked straight forward and followed the path with the white and bright yellow seasonal flowers next to it. He knocked on the door and heard how someone came to open it.

There she was indeed. Quite sheepishly, or at least that was how it felt for Callen, he smiled and held the bag in front of her.  
"Hey," he said. "Hi… Macey? I ehm, I wanted to thank you. Thanks for saving my life, last week."

She was smaller than he remembered or expected, dressed in rather casual, tight pale blue jeans with a fresh white, sleeveless shirt.

She tilted her head just slightly and her dark gray eyes went over his face. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she said "Wait. You look different from then... Your eyes, hair..."

"It was a disguise. I'm a federal agent, working for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. A week ago, I was undercover and you saved my life. It took some time to find you and to thank you. Also… well. You were gone before my co-workers could ask you to leave a witness report. Why?"

It was false start and he knew it the minute he spoke the last few words. Callen felt the suspicion rising and the indecisive way she acted.  
"Listen, Macey. Could I have just a few words with you, inside?"

Reluctantly, she nodded and she turned, expecting him to follow. Like on the outside, the place was not too large inside either. Yet, he liked what she did to it. It wasn't feminine, nor too modern. He was no expert on interior design at all, but he liked it.

A red jacket with one of the badges from the conference center hung over a chair, ready to be taken once she planned to go to work.

"How did you find me anyway?"

He glanced at her, thinking she was more suspicious than during their very short meeting in Los Angeles, though at the same time rather relaxed too. Her territory, he realized.  
"Listen, it's quite a long story and actually, I'm not here to talk about my job. I took your bag, decided to find you and hand it back and thank you." He smiled and said "Great job, your novel."

"You read it?"

"Well, being not cleared for duty, I had nothing else to do. I wondered how to find you too. I know that my partner visited your publisher and the television studio, asking for your mail-account, but—"

Her gaze never left his face and Callen saw that she was quite aggitated when she asked in a sharp voice "You were using which means to find me, government systems? I don't think it's allowed, is it? I could sue you for that, did you know? Listen, thank you very much for bringing me back one of my books."

He was astonished, not expecting a reaction like this. Maybe it was a mistake, coming to this place and starting this discussion. It didn't matter she liked him or not. Their paths just crossed, coincidentally, and would probably diverge soon. But whatever might happen, he wanted her to know that there may be more going on.  
"I don't even know the outcoming of my co-workers work," he said in a calm voice. "Just figured it out myself. Reading and deducting and asking around… That's how I managed to find you. And there's more," he said. "Kyle, that guy you're working with, told me there was another man who wanted to know about you. You wouldn't happen to know anyone driving a Ford Transit, do you?"

She leant with her back to the small wooden countertop, brooding over his question. She slowly shook her head "Not that I'm aware of. They… Kyle said someone wanted to know about me?"

Callen nodded, and she said "I don't understand. In all those years that I live in here, nobody ever addressed me, asked for me or whatever. Then there's that shooting in LA and all of a sudden, you turn up again, telling me you found me yourself. Telling me that your agency poked your noses into my files. And there are other people doing the same. Why? I'm just a writer."

She looked away with those last few words.

Reading this woman's character was more difficult than he'd envisioned. She certainly had not the sweetness of Joelle, nor did she have the tomboy Lara Croft-character of Anna.  
"Listen, Macey, I don't know what's going on. Does the name Zorgietto ring any bells?"

She looked up and Callen knew she knew who he was talking about. She was about to answer his question when, all of a sudden, he noticed short flash. As if the sun was caught by some metal. He yelled "Get down!"

The small window behind her crashed when something hit it. It was impossible for Callen to floor her in time, and his outburst surprised her.  
Too late to dive away anyway.


	12. Chapter 12

**Dots, part 12**

* * *

 _A/N Struggled with this chapter and re-wrote some parts several times. Well, hope you liked it, including the genuine short cliffhanger ;-)_

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles || 4.15 in the afternoon**

"Right, what do we have, Hetty?" Deeks asked when he and Kensi met with the others in the operations center.

The tiny boss gazed at him with a blank look and he knew she didn't appreciate his remark this time. She replied "What we have, Mr. Deeks, is a situation."

He let his hand go through the unruly blond hair which indeed needed a haircut. "Right. A situation," he repeated. "Any situation we should know about and which you are going to share, I assume?"

The gaze never left his face, and this time it was Sam who continued. "Callen ran into Zorgietto. Or at least, that's what we think. He called in, asked Eric about a suspicious car. Eric confirmed it's one listed to Zorgietto's car park."

"Zorgietto? And?" Kensi asked. She remembered the case as well, just as she remembered how the man had laughed wickedly at them, Callen who was closest and who'd been the one he addressed most directly 'that they'd meet again soon and it would be the other way around when that happened.'

Sam read the worries in her eyes, and he knew it was the other way around as well. He shrugged. "Tried to reach him but he didn't answer his phone."

"And you already checked at his place?" She then asked.

Sam shook his head. "No use. He's not at home and we know it."

Then Eric, Deeks and Kensi started to talk all at the same time and suddenly Hetty clapped her hands.  
"Order, ladies and gentlemen." She paused a minute and then she spoke in a softer voice. "We need to summarize, to brainstorm. Leave out what needs to be left out. Try to find clues and find them soon. I'll give you fifteen minutes before you leave."  
Despite the highly specs in the room, she pulled down an ordinary whiteboard, took a marker and pulled off the cap.

"What we have, you asked, Mr. Deeks, is what I am going to share with you. And what I want you to do is to brainstorm like you haven't done before."

She started to write - 'Roberts' 'Blake' 'Schiller' 'Callen' 'Zorgietto'. "I am going to add another name too, one Vanderhilt mentioned earlier. Gerald Keene. He's a former ICE agent. His name hasn't shown up in the system yet, has it, miss Jones?"

The young information analyst shook her head, making the ponytail in her red hair swing around. "Nope. But right, let's give it a go," Nell said. "Zorgietto followed Callen to where he is right now. Knew the spot, knew what Callen was up to."

Sam shook his head. "Impossible. I mean, he didn't even share with us. So why choose his enemy for it? Unless he was lured to a certain place…"

"Pretty sure he would have mentioned it," Eric stated. "When he called in, I mean. He would have asked for assistance. Instead, he was just as surprised as I was."

"Didn't Blake say something that Callen was intervening?" Kensi asked. "What do you think he meant? And wasn't it Blake who knew about the GPS tracker? He knew where Callen would be. Right? He could be the one who wants to deal with some unfinished business," Kensi surmised. "And so he follows Callen. Asks Zorgietto to do the dirty work perhaps. Like Blake wanted Schiller to do too, perhaps."

"He's in no condition to fight them off," Sam said with a grim face, not really listening to what Kensi just said. "We should be there to have his back."

"Perhaps I should have laughed away the rule that one should not investigate any case in which one is the direct object of that same investigation," Hetty mentioned, her voice sorry now.

Nell looked around. While Hetty was writing, she had put all kind of intel in her tablet that she added to the series of names Hetty had them thinking about. 'NCIS' 'ICE' 'CIA' 'La Eme'. Just to be sure, she added one more name: 'Marcia Schwartz.'

"You just said that Callen isn't in town. Where did he go? Where is there?" Deeks asked Sam.

It was Eric who responded. "Although he's last used his phone in here-" He tapped on his tablet and a map appeared on the screen which he immediately enlarged. He the pinpointed at it and said, "I just pinged it in here."

"You gotta be kidding man… It's one of the most scary places in California." Deeks exclaimed. "We all know that. Right?"  
He looked around, shook his head and repeated "Right? We all know what happened to Laura Palmer, do we?"

There was a short chuckle from Eric. "This is real life, Marty, no tv-show. And yeah, true, Callen visited Twin Peaks. Pretty sure he never heard of the series. He used his phone in this place, the Christian Conference Center. Didn't drive his own car though, which is of course our car, I mean, NCIS property. He must have rented one. Anyway, Callen's phone was lasted pinged about two and a half miles west of it, near an abandoned motel on Rim of the World highway, called 'Cliffhanger'.

"Ha, and now you're teasing us, right?" Deeks shook his head. "Cause that's a cliffhanger indeed. We'd better start again. Thinking out of the box perhaps. What clues and what links do we have when we leave a name out of your list and add another one? Like skipping Callen, adding that writer."

"Getting us where, Deeks?" Sam nearly snapped.

The younger detective frowned. He understood how the large senior agent felt powerless right now, and still, they all knew time was their real enemy and there was something they were missing.  
He smirked shortly. Callen might have seen the connection, but then, he wasn't around… He sincerely wished he could do the trick.  
"So, like I said, thinking out of the box. Another try… y'see, Callen posed as Rogers. Word reaches Schiller that Rogers is still alive and he tries again. Blake doesn't want Schiller to talk and kills him. Like he plans to kill Callen too, knowing Callen is Callen. Why? Because Callen may be the witness of something else. What if Blake is after Macey Campbell, formerly known as special agent Marcia Schwartz?"  
He looked around, expecting all kind of comments. Instead, they all were quiet.  
"So?" he tried again.

Sam nodded and broad dimples appeared when he smiled gratefully. He patted the younger detective on his back. "So, assuming you may be right, we know who to look for and where we should look. I bet G already found out more than we have. We need to get going."

He didn't notice the relief on their operations manager, but heard her words "Do whatever needs to be done, mister Hanna."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Twin Peaks || Cedar Brook Drive **

Macey Campbell was aware of four things that happened nearly simultaneously. There was the sudden widening of the clear blue eyes of the man who leaned against the kitchen table. Then there was the warning yell of him and the window that shattered behind her. Within that same second she felt a sharp pain.

Then there he was, a mixture of concern and shock in his eyes as he floored her, late, too late to prevent any harm. With the fiercest pain there were several stinging hits in her shoulders and upper back. Glass from the window, she realized.

She didn't know what he did but she did hear him curse as she experienced another sudden sharp pain in her left shoulder. She expected a lot of blood, instead there was a tingly sensation.

"What?" her voice cracked and she blinked her eyes several times. It was as if she had too much to drink.

Callen shook his head. "A dart. Don't know." He knew it was useless to rub the spot where he removed the dart — whatever poison or drug was in it already entered her system.  
There was no time for a conversation, no time to figure out how she'd know of Zorgietto, but it was clear for Callen that perhaps she wasn't the average writer or receptionist he thought she was.  
"You able to move?" he asked.

Although he thought he heard a certain slur when she spoke, she responded with a "Think so."

"Stay low. Any chance we get out of here unseen?"

A nod. "Mudroom. Side-entrance. Neighbors garden."

Sure, it could have been unseen. They could have made it, but whatever it was that was affecting her reflexes, it made her sluggish. Had he been in a mint condition he would have supported her better so they could get away from whoever were after him — or probably after her, he admitted now.

He concentrated on the direction she said they had to go, carefully observing the surrounding. She followed, though slowing them down, and her steps were unsteady. Then she stopped walking, sway on her feet and he turned around, only to see her slowly collapsing.

"Damn." He cursed, though silently. Callen checked to see if and how he could get her back on his feet. By doing so, he let his guard down.

A mistake.

"Over here!"  
The voice came from behind him and Callen saw a young man running in their direction, followed by another one. He cursed inwardly this time. No gun. No back-up. No condition to defend himself.  
Not good.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

He'd been out cold. No matter he had simply tried to defend himself – it had been useless with at least four men who were in a much better shape than he was. Then somebody had decided to knock him off of his feet.  
Somehow, they must have hit him hard, since he felt the dried blood on his forehead. Callen felt like crap.  
He looked around and didn't have a clue where he was.  
The place was clean and brightly lighted, but small, very small. Maybe a utility room in a new built house or factory, he figured. Definitely not his ordinary habitat.  
There were windows too, but high up. Even now that he got up, he realized they were too high to peek through. The only thing he noticed was the fact that it was dark outside. Halfway April, so he figured it was past eight in the evening already.

There was some movement and soft sighing noises next to him and he was grateful to see that Macey also was waking up from her drug-related unconsciousness.

He watched her limbs moving incoherently. Her clothes which had been crisp were now shabby, dotted with small rusty spots from the shattered window. There was hardly any make-up on her face, Callen noticed. Not ladylike and a large difference from Joelle or Anna. But still very feminine. She was mumbling things he didn't understand.

Callen let his thoughts go over what had happened. If he had not been around, would she have survived? Had it been poison, or just drugs? Why would Zorgietto – if it were him - want her, dead, or here? He sincerely hoped that she was able to stay awake, so she could answer some questions, to clear some matters so they could plan… something.

She finally blinked her eyes several times before she slowly got up to a sitting position. Callen noticed how she let her gaze go over his face, and then lower.

"You're bleeding," were the first words she said.

He nodded — a movement he shouldn't have made since it made him nauseous.

"Not only your head. There's a fresh blood stain in your shirt."

He saw genuine worry in her eyes and she shove closer his way, reaching for the hem of his sky blue shirt.  
He didn't let her. Instead, Callen watched his shirt himself. He had a pretty good idea what happened. He muttered "Guess some stitches broke. Still recovering, remember?"

He was annoyed by the fact he was this weak and that it had been as easy as it had, being overwhelmed like he was. Still, he managed to box the idea. It would be much better to focus on how to get away.  
He asked in a soft voice "Got any idea where we are?"

Her gaze went from the shirt to his eyes, another shade of blue and then she scanned the place. "No. I haven't been here before. Of course not."  
She tried to do the maths of the interior walls of the small room. "Looks like a prisoner cell, without the usual bed, sink and toilet."  
She let it sink in. "What happened?"

"Should have seen it coming. Guess I… Well, we kind of ran into a trap." He blamed himself for the easy way Zorgietto or his men had gotten so near.

She shifted stiffly and stretched her legs. Then she tilted her head slightly and let out a deep sigh. "Guess it had to happen, someday. Perhaps I should have been better prepared after all. This Twin Peaks, well, it seemed like a great place to live. I was kind of tired of running", she said.

"Running… You are running, from whom?"

She chew the inside of her cheek. "A long story. Don't know if you want to hear. I mean, would it change anything?"

"Dunno," Callen replied. "It depends. When I mentioned Zorgietto, you knew who I was talking about. You know, I got the feeling you're more than just a writer. It's just a coincidence our paths crossed and that perhaps, we have a common enemy."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **San Bernardino highway**

"You're awfully quiet Sam," Kensi said. "I mean, I get that you're worried now Callen doesn't answer his phone. But... you, me, us — we need to share, don't you think?"

He glanced at the rear view mirror, facing his co-worker. He simply huffed as a response.

After another silence, it was Deeks who said: "Yeah, we know, it's G we're talking about."

"Grisha." The dark brown voice of the man behind the wheel sounded irritated with the words of the younger detective. On the other hand Sam understood that his co-workers felt left out and were concerned just as well.  
"He doesn't know what we know about this Macey Campbell."

"Do you think it matters? She'll tell him whenever it's necessary", Kensi stated. "I would, you know."

Sam nodded. "Let's hope so, Kenz... but we can't tell. This Macey suffered from amnesia, but there's more. Hetty and I spoke with someone who was working with her, this guy Vanderhilt. And after that, well, you know, there's more... those witnesses who heard her talk about CIA. You and Nell went through those files. CIA was mentioned several times, but her handler laughed it away at that time. He told everyone that she was still suffering from what happened. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Because of this period of being locked up, the knowledge of the betrayal and a near-death-experience. He blames it on some personal circumstances."

"Which definitely angers you, big guy." Deeks noticed.

"Kind of," Sam acknowledged. "I just Don't buy that, you see. That woman went through so much during her military career."

"Even if she would suffer from PTSD... Why would she lie? Lies don't fit with it. I'd get it when she's suppress her emotions. Not accusations like this."  
Sam saw how she clenched her jaws.

"My idea, Kenz. After she left the hospital she was offered to stay in a safe house. Some weeks later, there were e-mails at ICE's office, telling 'they'd soon find her'. And—"

His explanation was interrupted by an incoming call.

"It's Eric," Deeks saw. He pressed the mic icon on his phone and replied "Hey there, what's up?"

"Bad news guys. There was a report from a local police office our systems ran into. A car apparently got in a sideslip and crashed some feet lower."

"And?"

"It's a rental. And it's at the same spot where Callen's phone should be."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Twin Peaks || Cliffhanger **

Officer Phil Emerson was waiting for them at the exact location he let Eric know — at the very same spot where Callen's cell phone was traced earlier by the technical analyst.

The grey Mercedes hit some of the high pine trees. Parts of the bark were badly damaged and the same went for the car. Although the road had been tarmacked like they were used to, and there would be evidence. Tracks, speed and distance, brakes – things which would be easy enough to find. But it would take time, precious hours. There was no time. Not now.  
Besides, what would it mean for Callen? This was the car he rented, Nell had found out about it.

"What do you make of it?" Sam asked the officer.

The man shrugged. "Well, someone from the big city… maybe a deer crossed the road and he didn't know how to avoid it. Classic mistake."

Kensi shook her head. "Not possible. He knows how to drive a car, perhaps better than Sam does."

"But he's still recovering," Deeks said. "Perhaps he was tired. Influenced by medication."

Sam huffed. "C'mon Deeks. It's G we're talking about. He don't do drugs."

"Airbags inflated," Kensi noticed as she was inspecting the car. She took her black gloves and put them on, careful not to ruin any tracks. Rentals like this were mostly clean and nearly empty. She found what she didn't want to find. "His cell phone is still in here."

Emerson stood next to his car. "So far, I haven't found any signs that anyone was catapulted from the car. No witnesses. No… Well, nothing, actually. There's hardly any time left for any further inspection, because the only thing I know, being born in those mountains, is that it'll be dark in only a short period from now."

"Short as in…?" Deeks asked.

"Quarter of an hour, max." Emerson shook his head. "Suppose it is useless to continue any investigation in here. So…"

"So? Any suggestions?" Sam wanted to know.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Twin Peaks || Cedar Brook Drive, half an hour later **

Emerson had agreed on the suggestion of Sam to open the front door to the friendly house he led them to. "Will ask one of my team to come over and mark it as a crime scene. That is, if it's alright with you?"

"Says who. I mean, there's no prove that any crime is going on. Right?" Sam mentioned.

Again, the other man shrugged. "Just a suggestion and a kind offer. I thought you guys from the city would appreciate it. But hey… you're probably right. You need a hand? I'd —"  
Another shrug when he noticed the three people from an agency he never heard of, were watching him in a way which made him feel like an ignorant civil servant. "Guess I'd better check if there are any traffic offenses."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Kensi's final 'Clear!' came from the small bedroom.  
Nothing so far. No inhabitant. It didn't make sense.

"Do you think Callen was here?" Deeks asked. "I mean, I don't think so. There's only some stuff on the sink for one person."

"You're right about that," Sam agreed. "Yet this woman isn't around either." He shook his head. "Still… this broken window. Can't figure out what made it break."

"Not a sign of a burglary. No pools of blood from a shooting." Deeks shook his head. "Maple trees, pines and Red-Woods, too many ferns. Dunno. I really wouldn't want to live in a place like this," Deeks muttered. "And there's this car. Crashed. Need I repeat the name of that exact spot, special agents Hanna and Blye? Cliffhanger. Cliffhanger… Any cliffhangers you can think of?"

They were silent now, looking around, carefully checking.

"Cliffhanger indeed," Kensi finally said as she spotted the bag which was placed on one of the chairs around the kitchen table. "There's this."  
She held up the bag which contained a novel. "I left this bag, with this novel, with Callen in the hospital. We took the rest to the lab. This one, he was allowed to keep, remember Deeks? Guess he was here after all. But…"

"Before the car crash?" Deeks dared to ask.

"We'd better ask ourselves: before the car crash? Or DID the car crash… Somehow I get the feeling there's more to it," Sam said. He then kneeled and inspected one of the small pieces of glass. "See what I see?"

Kensi nodded and replied in a shaky voice "Blood."


	13. Chapter 13

**Dots, part 13**

* * *

disclaimer: I am well aware that I do not own any of the original characters of NCIS Los Angeles. They all belong to Shane Brennan, R. Scott Gemmill &CBS

* * *

A/N Sure thing: I don't know about any builders or how/if they adjust any temporary canteens or whatsoever in or around Los Angeles, so it's pure fictional what you read about those in this chapter!  
Thank you for your patience, it took some time to find the right inspiration...

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Unknown location**

It felt rather awkward when Callen saw how she observed him longer than most people did, not even bothering about hiding the distrust she showed. Especially for someone who was captures like she was, and he, it was weird to find out she wasn't really scared or impressed. Not about the situation, it seemed. If any uncertainties and trust-issues, it was about him. It was not like there was any possibility to avoid the other person, but it still felt weird and nearly uncomfortable in such a narrow space.

She cleared her throat twice before her eyes met his, then averted them immediately as she asked "Which agency did you say you work for?"

He shrugged, but didn't respond. Instead, he did another quick check of the room. No camera's, and probably no mics either. "NCIS," he finally mentioned, although he was pretty sure he had told her before. "Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

There was a brief nod, hardly noticeable for someone who did not observe people and their non-verbal communication. But Callen was an expert. It was as if Macey needed a tiny bit of confirmation before she dared to share, dared to trust.  
He was right, she probably just needed to hear it before she continued: "And you ran into Zorgietto how?"

Again, Callen hesitated — how should he explain? Instead, he chose a counterdemand. "How do you know about him?"

She nibbled on the nail of her thumb and he understood that it was difficult for her to explain indeed. Like he figured before — she was not the easygoing person one could take her for, at all.  
"Like I said. A long story. You think it'll be helping us out?"  
Callen replied with a simple shake of his head. "Dunno."

She continued. "It's ehm… well, I actually don't remember. It was in my files where I read it."  
Macey noticed how he now furrowed his brows. "Yeah. You're right. It's complicated… and I'm pretty sure it's not the most reliable intel. You see, Zorgietto… he was working with La Eme and a group of sex traffickers from Argentina and Mexico. This needed to be stopped and best way was to catch Zorgietto and his coworkers in the act."

"Wait. Your… you're talking about your files? Which files?" Callen remarked. He heard what she said, but he needed to let it sink in before he really understood the impact of what she just mentioned.

"My files… the ones I read of my agency." There was a light sigh and she wondered if she should share it all. "Yep, a federal agency as well."  
She now sent him a rather shy smile, which was odd for the situation and he hadn't expected it either. "I'll tell you which if you first give me your name. You see… there's this damned problem I'm struggling with. I lost my memory, or perhaps most of it. But I read the files and I do recall the names which were in it. Which cannot be said for the faces that come by, unfortunately."

Of course she showed distrust. He was perplexed and shook his head. "Callen. Grisha Callen. My friends call me G, or Callen."  
He watched her for a moment, and suddenly remembered what she said before. "That's why you said you were tired of running?"

She looked away from him but answered anyway. "Yes. My agency — ICE — offered me some safe places. But then again, after a period, there were new threats, question marks for the officers who were around to keep me safe. I requested a new identity. Tried to make a new career, you know, with that writing stuff. Then there was Los Angeles and there was you."

"But you weren't looking for me. Nor for any trouble."

Another shy smile. "Of course not. I simply had to do something. That guy was going to kill you, wasn't he? It was a kind of automatic action."

"Training which never left your memory," Callen replied, feeling grateful for that moment once again.

"Guess so," Macey confirmed. "You were lucky that I parked my car in there. All I did was paying a visit to my publisher and collecting some paychecks. Revenues of my writing and a monthly amount as a settlement with our government. They're always sent to a post office on West 7th, so I usually park my car in one of the surrounding garages. This time at the hospital's. Use different places, come over at different days, different routes."

Callen nodded, trying to make sense of it all. Then suddenly he wondered about something. "But always the same post office?" On her short nod, he asked "Does the name Martin Blake ring a bell?"

He expected her to shake her head. Instead he saw her eyes narrowing again, a sign he understood.

"CIA?"

He simply confirmed, and he knew there and then that Blake never was in there for him. He had been after her, definitely. But she hadn't been able to identify the man.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Twin Peaks, Lake Arrowhead Resort || 10.30 at night **

It had cost Deeks and Kensi some annoyed looks from the senior agent. It was quite clear that Sam had preferred to do something more in order to find clues. Clues they missed so far. But even after another short round through the house there were only the small pieces of glass with a bit of blood. And at ten in the evening, it was useless wanting to find out more about it.

"No matter whoever is behind this, I've got a pretty good feeling that Callen and this Macey or Marcia are together and still alive," Deeks said. "We need to rest, see if from that situation we'll get new inspiration."

There was a short huff from Sam. "You seem to have forgotten that Callen isn't even fit enough to start work. It was a stupid idea of him to drive that dangerously winding road to come to this place anyway."

"Are you sure about that, Sam?" Kensi asked. "I mean, he made the decision to come this way to have some relaxed days off. If Hetty or Eric told him about who Macey Campbell really is, he may have been the one who ponder about why Blake was in this parking garage. And I sure know that we could have used his sharp way of thinking in this case."

"Yeah." Sam did agree while at the same time he knew HE could have been the one to inform his friend and partner. "Well… We should get some sleep then."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Unknown location**

There finally were some silent periods. Callen got up, rapping his knuckles on the two long sides of the place. A kind of dressed metal, he supposed. A full metal door — locked, of course.  
He sighed heavily and got down in a sitting position again.  
He now understood why Hetty had practically ordered him to take some time off; he was far too feeble for a lot of physical action.

There was still light in the small room, though artificial. Automatically, he checked his left wrist only to realize again that his watch wasn't around anymore.

"Got any idea how long we're stuck in here?" Macey asked as she observed the lighter skin on his hand as well. Her eyes were then scanning the man next to her. The very same she'd seen wounded and defenseless. He now was restless, appearing strong and far from scared. She did, however hear how his breath hitched when he stretched his body.

His eyes met her gaze and there was a small smirk. "It's probably past midnight already. Was thinking if this place is something like a temporary office building, a portable on-site thing... You know, those things you see on building sites? One that needs to be finished. You know a place where they build or stack those?"

She hummed shortly, shook her head and answered "Worse. There's a depot near Devil's Canyon. I heard that they're adjusting containers, mostly for portable restrooms, which are being exported".  
Macey let her hand go through her hair, slowly removing the now unruly pony-tail she still wore, while she seemed to figure out how she and Callen were moved to this place in the period she was out.  
Callen watched how her fingers moved from the top of her head and now combed her hair nearly unconsciously. Fingers, without any rings, which weren't too long, but neither stubby. Short and well taken care of nails but no neatly manicured hands. Now he followed their trail, he noticed a long thin scar in her neckline which hadn't faded yet. Scars, visible and invisible, he reckoned. Nothing new to him.

"It probably explains the high window." Macey continued, her voice now sounding more strained as she felt uncomfortable with the way this man was watching her. She started fidgeting with one of the plain bobby-pins she removed from her hair and the sudden loud chuckle she heard from her fellow in this place startled her.

"It's not the window. Not you. It's just that… Well… May I?" Callen reached for the small accessory. "Never mind what we discussed, this is our way out."

He'd done the trick many times before in the past, with pins, clips and trash he found in the street. Cars, houses… he sighed. Nothing to be proud of, but it sure came handy by now. Since he was on sick-leave only, the usual stuff he worked with were at the office and he lost the bobby-pin he used to carry with him a long time ago.

Working with his left hand mostly, the pin Macey handed him didn't survive his too forceful treatment. He looked up, only to see her confident smile and withanother pin in her hand.  
"Let me give it a try. It's funny, I never saw these pins as a tool. It reminds me of that guy on tv…"

"MacGyver," Callen said. Sam had mentioned it as well, somewhere during the past few weeks.

She worked slower than he would have and it seemed to take ages for her to manage to open the lock. Still, it worked.

Slowly, Callen opened the door. It wasn't as he expected. Not the hustle and bustle of the big city, nor in the cool mountains. This was more like the middle of the desert. Exactly what Macey mentioned before: devilish. Besides, it was pitch dark. Nobody near, no one to keep an eye on them. Who-ever was behind this abduction must feel very confident there was no possibility to escape.

"Right. Now what do you think we should do?" his companion said.

Callen shrugged shortly, realizing that perhaps she couldn't even see that movement. "Get the hell out of here, find ourselves a phone, a car, a safe place and something warm to wear."

"Off to San Bernardino it is then," her response was.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles || 7 in the morning**

Four separate systems had been running all night to see if there were any connections between names, case files, years, phone records and personnel files of several agencies. From his home system, Eric Beale had access to new hits and at 6.15 there were some new bleeps which made him nearly choke in his breakfast cereals.

Right now, about half an hour later, Eric, Nell, Granger and Hetty were at the Ops center.

"Gerald Keene and Thomas Roberts both started as detectives and worked together for a short period in San Francisco. Eight months, to be exactly. Then Keene moved for a position at the CIA until he switched to another agency, ICE." Eric pointed out. "Keene and Blake were partnered up as well, but even for a shorter period. Two months, to be exactly."

The other three persons stared at the screen, noticing the yellow connection mark. "Right. I don't see the connection yet, Beale," Granger said.

"Neither did I, until this popped up," Eric said as he showed some pictures on screen.

"Keene, Roberts and Blake showing up at San Bernardino airport. All three of them at the same place, all three of them returning from a flight last February 14th. A private plane which left from Bogota, with a short stop in Ciudad Juárez," Nell continued. "Which means that Blake knew Roberts. Now what if they all are dirty cops?"

"What if's are not the usual assumptions we build our cases on, Miss Jones," Hetty commented. She continued then "However, this may be a fact. One we need to have confirmations of as soon as possible."

Granger added "Beale and you should be able to find out more about the relationship of these three men. I will contact the San Diego office once again. Nobody mentioned trips like this when we discussed agent Roberts' files. He must've taken time off to be able to travel, or his handler would have told me."  
Now he was diving into the matter and addressing the others, his voice was slurry again and he took his mug with coffee to sip some of it in an attempt to hide the slur. He knew it wasn't worth the effort when he felt the stare of Hetty.

"Assistant director Granger is right. With this new intel we can find out whether agent Roberts went rogue", Hetty stated. "That is what this case was about from the beginning". Her voice was softer when she spoke now, since she understood all too well that it developed to a worse situation ever since Granger and Callen had decided to try and solve the case differently.  
They needed a break indeed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Dots, chapter 14**

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Devil's Canyon Road || past midnight**

It sounded perfect, 'get to San Bernardino'.  
Maps of the city popped up in Callen's head, but he didn't recall ever having heard of this Devil's Canyon Road before. There were some far away lights ahead which practically blurred into one bright dot if he narrowed his eyes toward what he figured was south of the place he was right now.  
"Is that where we are heading to?" he asked.

She paused a beat before she answered. "As far as I know that's where the university should be. If we walk up to the North, it's a dead-end road. For cars, that is. We'd walk straight into the National Forest. But…"  
Macey didn't finish her sentence, since she did not know if she was about to offend her companion. "Well, I've no idea if there are any safe places in that direction. And besides… to be honest, I don't think you are in a mint condition and we'd better find a place to get and clean that wounds of yours. They bled, remember?"

There was no use denying. Still, Callen did not like to be told things like she just did.  
After all, he was used to taking care of himself. He didn't respond and stubbornly started walking the narrow road which was hardly tarmacked at all. Now his eyes were getting used to the dark, he noticed the uneven borders and potholes. There was the typical smell of pines and moist forest ground and there were rustles he didn't recognize.  
No exhaust fumes or humming of traffic, nor shouts of quarreling people in busy streets.  
Perhaps his face showed it, this uncomfortable feeling. Inwardly, he denied it. It was too dark for her to read his face.  
She sensed it. Like he would.

He saw how she spread her hands when she continued in a quiet voice "Listen, I get it that you don't like to be mothered like I just did. And you don't have to like me. But now we're in this situation together and we both don't know for sure who we are coping with, so… If we want to get away from this place, we'd better hurry. I really don't want to deal with circumstances like we just escaped from again."

"We'd hear them coming Macey. And I don't scan any brightly lighted places where anyone will let us in at the moment. So — bleeding or not, there's no other option but to keep going like we do," Callen reasoned in the same quiet and calm voice.  
He did appreciate it that she was no whiner. In one way or another it was obvious now that he unconsciously had shown a sort of distrust and uncertainty toward her. After all, she mentioned it. Still, it had been a mutual thing. A wrong start with misunderstandings.

They walked downhill for about a quarter of an hour in a steady pace, without speaking. She let him lead and Callen knew she was keeping an eye on him. He halted for a second, blinking his eyes several times. He shivered in the cool night air and he remembered how she only wore a thin blouse. "You're okay?" he asked.

She just hummed positively. "You?"

He hesitated just a beat too long. Just like Sam, she understood. "It's at least another hour if we continue like we do. Sure you —"

"Sure."  
His reply came too soon this time. It was useless to tell her that he was feeling lightheaded and feverish. He guessed she knew.

Ten minutes later he couldn't help letting a deep sigh escape as he noticed three large trucks with their trailers which were parked on a small parking next to the road. In one of them, there was a small light which showed how the driver was reading a newspaper.

"What are you planning?" Macey nearly whispered. "A car, a phone, something warm to wear… Got any ideas how we should arrange that?"

It was hard to think clearly. He couldn't just bust in and make some demands. He just shrugged, feeling weaker than he wanted to admit.  
"Let me give it a try then," she suggested. She knocked on the window, definitely giving the owner of the truck a near heart-attack.

"Excuse me, sir. Any chance you can help us? We apparently got lost somewhere this afternoon and it looks like we're running around in circles. Is this the road to Arrowhead Springs? Y'see, a friend of us was going to pick us up in there. Now my boyfriend met with a nasty branch and…"

The man just shook his head. "Arrowhead is at least ten miles to the east. Boy, you sure got lost indeed."

"Told you so," Macey now turned to Callen. "Told you, but you said you were right. Now… You think Mike is still waiting for us? He's probably asleep, like you should be too. That drinking of you of last night didn't really help. No way."  
She nearly scuffed and her burst out surprised Callen as well. She sure knew how to play the game, but so did he.  
"How about the 'I am not taking all that stuff with me anymore' and 'we'll pick our backpack up on our way back'. A fine mess, honey. Now what?"

The truck driver put his hands up as if he was surrendering. "Now listen, I get it that you're both tired. So am I. So… chances that you are some kind of Bonnie and Clyde should be less than two percent, so I suppose you don't plan robbing me?" He chuckled because of the joke he thought he made, but then seriously added "Listen, if you think you were lost, why didn't you use a phone?"

Callen simply shook his head while Macey answered with a deep sigh "Really? Have you ever, ever tried an iPhone in this, this middle-of-nowhere thing? No reach, yet George in here kept insisting I should try and try over again. Until the battery went low and even lower and it eventually died." She shook her head as if she was irritated enormously. And it worked.

The man took one of the largest and most outdated mobile phones from the passenger's seat. "See if you can call your friend. He must be worried about you. If you're lucky, he didn't call the cops yet."

Callen gratefully took the phone and dialed the number he knew by heart. He heard the phone ring four times when finally, he heard the voice of his friend speaking. "Yeah?"

Playing the game they were playing, Callen did recall the name Macey used for the so-called friend. It wouldn't have mattered who he called, as long as he used the name she made up.  
"Mike, buddy! How good it is to hear your voice. You see, Macey and I got kind of lost. We're now at—" he shrugged and looked around.

"Devil's Canyon Road," the driver spoke in a soft voice, definitely understanding this couple's situation.

"You heard the guy, Devil's Canyon Road. Any chance you can pick us up in here, buddy?"

Sam's sleepy voice was gone now. "Damn, G. You sure had us worried. You're alright?"

Callen glanced at the others and he simply hummed. "Nothing that a band-aid can't fix."  
He heard the grateful sigh on the other side of the line as he noticed how the truck driver started to grabble underneath his chair. For a millisecond, Callen held his breath, as always aware that violence could be everywhere.  
But once the man rose again he carried a first-aid box which he handed to Macey. "Listen, I don't know how long it takes for your friend to come to this place, but I can open the trailer for you so you can, uhm, wait for help," the driver spoke in a soft voice. "I'm Mike too, by the way."

She sent him a grateful smile, took the box with her left hand and held her right hand to shake his. "Macey. Macey Garland. And this is George, George Callen," she said. "Thank you so much for helping us."  
She motioned to Callen and followed Mike who opened the roller-shutters of the trailer. She felt goosebumps appearing everywhere with that sound and she suddenly was thankful that Callen was with her.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Twin Peaks, Lake Arrowhead Resort || past 3 at night **

Sam took his jeans and shirt and got dressed in a matter of seconds. After putting on his boots, he took his jacket and checked his gun. Once he was sure he was ready to go, he left the room. Then, he decided he needed to wake his co-workers.  
He knocked on the door of the room which was opposite of his. Of course he didn't need to wake any other guests, so he waited a while before he knocked on it again. Half a minute later, a very sleepy Marty Deeks finally opened the door.

Without speaking, Sam simply entered.  
For once, Deeks was not the first to speak. Kensi sat in the bed, wearing an old pink shirt which probably once was red. "What's going on Sam?" she asked.

"G," Sam replied. "He just called. He's alright. It's like you said, Deeks, he's okay and he's still with this Marcia. Presumably, she's okay as well. He's asked me to come and pick him up."

"Thank God he's alright," Kensi sighed.

Deeks let his hand go through his hair which was indeed 'styled by pillow' right now. "Did he tell you where he is, or rather, where they are?"

Sam nodded. "Mind you, Marty. I bet you love this. How does 'Devil's Canyon' sound?"

"You're kidding! That's practically in San Bernardino," Deeks said.

"Didn't sound like that. He told me they were in the middle of nowhere and were very glad that they met with a trucker who was friendly enough to lend his phone to him," Sam said. "So, we can do two things. I'm leaving right now, without you, or the two of you get dressed in a matter of minutes and we can talk this over on our way. You know, discuss what to expect and how to handle this."

Kensi got up and hurried to the bathroom. "Back in a sec," she said.

Deeks simply nodded and took his jeans. "You called Hetty already?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "No need to wake the others. I mean, Callen can call her himself. It'll be better that way. Y'know, she appreciates it better if he does."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Devil's Canyon Road || half past four at night**

The first thing Callen noticed was the many times Macey licked her dry lips now they found the trailer as a shelter. She was more nervous now than she appeared to be when they had been imprisoned earlier.

"So your friend is going to be here soon?" she spoke in a soft voice.

Callen nodded. "He will."

Macey then gestured with the first-aid kit in her left hand towards his shirt. "Soon. Still, I think you should let me have a look at — at that. Wounds like that can get infected easily."

"As if I didn't know that," he murmured. Then he reached for the kit and sighed heavily.

She shook her head. "I understand that you would want to handle this yourself. But with that hand of yours… You see, I noticed you're right-handed, and there's no way you can take care of it on your own. So, since we're in this together right now, we should and could do this together, don't you think?"

He didn't like the way she was pushing it. On the other hand, Callen understood that she was right. He really could do without any more damage right now. Carefully, he lifted the hem of his shirt, only to notice it was stuck on the bandages underneath it. It sure bled more than he expected.

Her face was serious and her gaze focused on his abdomen. Again, she licked her lips, which now felt awkward for Callen.  
She took some antiseptics from the box and opened a paper enveloped sterile gauze. "This should do the trick. It'll clean this mess first, then kill any germs that may do you more harm. A surgipad, some fresh dressing and it'll be okay for now." Her voice sounded calm now, and she looked up at him. "You ready?" she simply asked.

He send her a short and more or less insecure smile. He definitely wasn't ready for anything Macey suggested at all and Callen definitely wasn't in a shape right now to protest. He actually wished he was at the best place he could think of right now - at home.  
At home and alone. No-one to worry about, no situations he had imagined to avoid by driving out of the city, the effort to find this woman and simply say 'thank you and thank you again, bye-bye and good luck with your writing career'.  
Yet here he was. Feverish indeed and with someone he only met earlier that day and who wasn't too keen being around with him.

Together with her now, playing hide and seek with enemies which were hers and which might be his. Hiding in a trailer in the middle of nowhere. Hoping his partner was to arrive soon.

Again, he murmured. A nearly unheard 'Sure. You go ahead then this time.

He focused on her dark lashes and the serious frown between her eyes. A shade of a green eyeliner was all she was wearing as make-up. Very different from what he noticed of many other women he met in his life.  
For the sake of avoiding the stinging experience of the antiseptics on his skin and the wound, the thinking of needles, stitches and pain, Callen asked "So, with this memory loss of yours… what things do you remember?"

He noticed how she clenched her jaws for a second and her fingers stopped what they were doing for the same few seconds too.  
"Early childhood. Or perhaps it's only the awareness that all was safe. The realization that there was warmth, a loving base. Family." Her dark eyes caught his gaze, and she shrugged a little. "The rest… well. I don't really know."

Callen paused, not knowing how to express the sensation that came with her words. It was exactly that what he lacked, until he met Hetty and later on, learned to trust other people, managed to work with people he now considered his family, the warmth he experienced when he was with the Hanna-family.  
He let the breath he held escape through his nose.  
He then let his left hand rest on hers, making her look up into his eyes.

Then he finally said "I think I understand."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading! Of course, any review is welcome._

 _Knirbenrots_


	15. Chapter 15

**Dots, chapter 15**

* * *

A/N Any recognition of names or venues are pure coincidental. It is never my intention to use names of anyone you may now…

To Skippy, French Fan and Linda: thank you so much for your comments. It's those which keep me writing!

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Devil's Canyon Road || nearly 4 in the morning**

Mike, the truck-driver, had left his warm and cozy truck again and peeked around the corner. Macey sent him another grateful smile and handed the first-aid kit back at its owner.  
"Thank you so much for your assistance so far, Mike."

"Well, you're welcome. As a matter of fact, I was about to catch some sleep. It means that I'll turn off the lights, which means it'll be pitch dark in here as well. You're alright with that?"

Callen nodded. "Of course it is. We'll be comfy in here for the moment. I think Mike will arrive in an hour or so. Is it okay with you if we'll leave without saying goodbye?"

"Sure it is," the man responded. "Glad I was able to help, man." He winked at Callen and added in a confidential voice "You'd better be proud of that girl of you. Man, if my Denise would have to walk in the dark in these surroundings, she'd be sobbing with fear I suppose, and fainting if she'd see blood. So… take care."  
To Macey, he only smiled rather apologetic. Then he closed the trailer once again.

It made her shiver, something Callen noticed immediately, despite his feverish feeling. She still was dressed in the thin and sleeveless shirt and he remembered how there was a jacket she was supposed to have taken as well. "It's chilly indeed. Listen, if you want… you can wear this shirt."  
She shook her head. "You'd better keep it. You need it."

Stubborn.  
He glanced at her, unnoticed he supposed. Her hands now were busy making a new ponytail in her hair and she looked away from him. There was something more than the chill of the night she experienced, however, he couldn't lay his finger on what it was.  
Although Mike had announced it, the darkness overwhelmed him and he heard how her breath hitched for a couple of times.

"You're good?" he asked.

She paused a beat and he heard how she shifted on one of the cardboard boxes she sat on. Then there was a very soft hum, which probably meant she was.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Devil's Canyon Road || past 4 in the morning**

The headlights of the Ford indicated the road bending to the left or to the right and Sam needed his attention with the reflectors and how to steer the car.  
The three of them had taken their luggage with them.

"You sure Callen is with that woman?" Kensi asked.

He sent a simple positive hum as an answer, which made her comment "Good. I mean, she is an agent. With Callen being injured, she can use her qualifications as well."

"Don't think so honey. Remember, she lost her memory. Which means she will probably be able to handle lots of different situations. But… Hetty mentioned that she isn't an agent right now. No agent – no weapons, nor does she have a team as a back-up," Deeks mentioned. He pause a second before he added "Still.. she did look kind of bad-ass when she floored that Blake."

Sam inhaled, louder than he planned. "Remember Blake is still somewhere. Unless, of course, someone didn't trust him as a partner and decided to get rid of the guy. Which, personally, I don't expect. So, unless the wonder twins find out exactly who is behind what and why, remember that we don't know who we're dealing with. Or with whom G and Marcia Schwartz have been dealing with."  
A pothole in the road made him mutter some bad words.

"You want me to drive, Sam?" Kensi asked.

He shook his head. "No way. I mean, no, it won't be necessary Kenz. It'll be only another ten minutes I suppose. Did you notice the city lights with the last turn to the right?"

A loud yawn sounded next to him. "Ten minutes. Perfect. Then another 10 minutes and we'll back at home. Monty will be so very happy."

"We should be almost there," Sam announced.

It was indeed less than five minutes until Deeks spotted the trucks which were parked aside of the road. "Slow down a little now, Sam. See if there's anything suspicious."  
He did. Drove past the scene. Nothing stood out. He drove another two minutes and the three of them agreed all was okay indeed.

"Let's get them in here," Deeks suggested. He was the first one to get out and he checked his gun, putting it in the small of his back now. The others did the same as they hurried to the parking.

"It's the last one of those three," Sam said in a quiet voice. He didn't want to wake anyone who wasn't aware of what was going on. Once they were very near, he only motioned with his left hand, since he carried his gun in the right hand. He decided he was going to be the one to open up the truck, while Kensi and Deeks were immediately beside him. Sam counted down from five with his fingers, then hit on the door and opened it in the same second.

Despite the dizziness, Callen never lost the awareness of what went on in the darkness around them. In the same few seconds he'd heard footsteps, he realized his team had probably arrived. It wasn't the same for Macey. She hurled forward, a pair of scissors which she must have taken from the first-aid kit, as a weapon. "Don't!" he yelled.

The strong arms of his partner managed to stop her action though, which made her drop her weapon and she fell back against the metal walls of the trailer.

"It's okay… it's okay…" Sam repeated, afraid he hurt the woman.

Callen glanced at his partner, then turned to Macey. "You're okay?"

"Of course I am," she replied, snappier than she'd been before. "I'm sorry". She slowly got back on her feet and she accepted it when Sam gave her a hand.  
"You'd better see if your partner is alright," she said. "I'll manage."

"So will I." Callen said. "We'd better get away from this place, before anyone decides to come and look for us as well."

Macey looked up with his words and shook her head. "No, we can't. I mean, if anyone would head for that cabin and notices we're not around, they might come in here and decide to ask Mike — he's the truck driver, you know," she explained to Sam, Deeks and Kensi, "what, and who, do you think he's going to deal with?"

Sam slowly nodded. "She's right," he mentioned, more or less to Kensi and Deeks.

"I get it," Deeks said. "So, what if Kensi and I would stay in here, just in case and just until Mike decides to leave this place?"

His partner smiled without really answering. She put her gun back into the ankle-holster and stepped into the high trailer. "We'll be good in here, Sam. Get them out of here," she said.

"'Them' don't have a say in here?" Callen asked. He knew he was sputtering, already agreeing with the situation. All he wanted was a warm place where he'd feel safe. A warm place, a shower if possible and a bed.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed || 5 in the morning**

"You sure you're alright?" Sam asked again.

Callen sighed. "Sure, I'm good. And you know what? I can have a shower, all by myself." He'd had it with other people who addressed him in a kind of worried voice. "I will survive, buddy. At least, that's what I expect."

Broad dimples appeared on Sam's face. "Not dying… I get it buddy. That's good. I was about to arrange a bed for Marcia — Macey, I mean. Well, I don't know. For her".

"In here?" Callen raised his brow.

His partner nodded. "Hetty's orders. Even worse… you're about to stay in as well. So, get your stuff and enjoy your shower."  
He chuckled when he saw the expression on Callen's face. His partner definitely wasn't very happy with the intel Sam had just given. "Alright G, I get it again… You're not dying." And he added quietly, just for the sake of their relationship and because he noticed how tired Callen looked ."It's this, or getting back to the hospital, buddy. Grab whatever you prefer best."

"So basically it's just this, if I refuse to go to hospital?" Callen nearly exclaimed. "How about 'getting home'?"

Sam nodded again, then shook his head. "Don't blame the messenger." He then turned, trusting his partner taking the easy route.

Callen left for the shower rooms, stepped out of his clothes and took a long, hot shower indeed. He didn't mind that the bandages which covered his wounds, were getting wet. Even better, he took them off, figuring it was the best way right now to clean them. He let his gaze go over his right hand, definitely not liking what he saw. Stretching his fingers was far too painful. Besides, he could still see what he did and was getting real nauseous staring at something that looked like a crater on the moon. Still, it was difficult not to. The other wound on his torso was looking better, definitely.  
Once the cold shivers he'd experienced earlier had left his body, Callen took a towel and dried his body as good as he could. He knew someone had to have a look at his wounds and they needed to be redressed.  
He smiled, though not enthusiastically, when he noticed how Sam — who else — had put a pair of boxer shorts and sweatpants ready. Easy to dress, this far. It would be different for the shirt, but he managed earlier, back in the hospital, as well.

Barefoot, he walked back to the central space. He smelled fresh coffee, but resisted and took a bottle of cold water from the fridge but cursed when the cap, which was hard to get off, fell on the floor once he managed to squeeze the bottle enough.

"You need to get some rest, Mr. Callen."  
He didn't have to turn around to know that the tiny but tough woman who ran the Los Angeles office, was standing behind him and monitored every single message his body sent.

Callen breathed out slowly. "You're right, as ever. Which MD did you invite?"

"Doctor Simms. He's checking on the woman now."

He shook his head and started pacing from the small kitchen unit to the couch in the furthest corner of the boathouse. Just as he slumped down, he noticed how in the small interrogation room, which door was open, Macey sat on a chair which was turned backwards. Her elbows were resting on the back rail, her hair loose and she held it with one hand. The way she sat there made him speechless. The shirt she had been wearing, was gone. The jeans though, were still there. Jeans, and a bra, of which the right shoulder band was lowered. It showed some kind of vulnerability in a combination with some very feminine features. More than he expected and he should have resisted watching that way, yet his eyes were drawn to this scene.

"Thought she mentioned she was alright," Sam said, interrupting Callen's thoughts.

Callen hummed as he notice how Simms, one of the physicians Hetty trusted, held a pair of tweezers and carefully pinched a small piece of glass from her shoulder. "Guess her definition is… well, differently from ours."

It made Sam chuckle. "Hear, hear… Wait until doc in there starts working on you, my friend."

The sounds of the two men reached Macey's ears as well and she felt rather embarrassed with how she was in a way exposed, not able to hide. She glanced sideward, only to see the man she'd only met earlier that day — or had it been longer? He showed about just as much bare skin as she was at the moment.

"As I said, Mr. Callen… You need to get some rest. So does miss Schwartz." As she noticed how he frowned, she added "The two of you met, didn't you?"

"Sure," he mumbled. "But we didn't get a real chance for an ordinary talk. It wasn't exactly a perfect first date, if that's what you mean."

She shook her head. "Just what I thought. You're starting to talk humbug now, Mr. Callen. Now, once doctor Simms dealt with her, he'll be checking on you. Then you need some rest." She raised her hand as a way to stop him from interrupting, and continued "I know it'll be in broad daylight by then, but I also know you'll be less sharp without any more rest. I suppose you know it's just past five in the morning. There will be time left to go through some files later today. Rest assured that we will do our utmost to find out who was around where and who is behind this… this… attempt."

It didn't matter that Callen wanted to be part of all of the things his team was looking into right now. He was exhausted, he knew Hetty was right and for once, he simply nodded in agreement.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Meanwhile at Devil's Canyon Road**

There had been two cars passing, and what Deeks figured was a larger van. It had taken about twenty minutes before they heard cars coming from the opposite way.

"They're coming back," Deeks whispered. Kensi nodded, and whispered "Think so". She took her gun, and wet her lips several times. "The SWAT team should be in position too, right?" she asked.

"They are," Deeks confirmed. "We don't hear them, so they're just as ready as we can be… Are you, Fern?"

"Of course. This is what we do, right?" She noticed the bright smile, even now in the dark, and it warmed her and she felt encouraged with his presence.

It was only minutes later when the shutter doors rolled open. The four men outside expected a man and a woman, unarmed, wounded perhaps or drugged, inside. They never expected the warning 'Federal Agents, drop your guns!'

Two of them halted, the two others had their guns drawn already and never intended to do what they were ordered to do. Their shots, however, were lost in the dark trailer, since Kensi and Deeks were sharper and quicker.  
One car sped away, and neither of the backup team was able to stop it. The two men who observed what happened, surrendered.

"A full day available for us to explain," Deeks sighed. He yawned without any embarrassment and added "Man, I'd die for a cat-nap. How's that?"

* * *

 _Thank you for reading!_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16, Dots**

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Thank you so much for reviewing, as ever, Skippy, Linda and French fan. It's not possible to send you a PM or respond to your reviews, so… here it is! #thankyousomuch  
This goes to for F4llon, Mulderette, Wotumba1 and JaniceS as well, of course!

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed || 7.05 in the morning**

It didn't matter that it was still dark and that she was exhausted, nor that the makeshift bed was really comfortable — Macey Campbell couldn't sleep. The constant soft splatter of water against… well, she didn't know what kind of place this actually was. But it made her shiver, despite the fact that it wasn't cold at all.

With the lights on, the place looked quite okay. A small but functional kitchen unit, a large table with colorful chairs, and a comfy couch with a coffee-table. The windows were high, which made it impossible to peek into the room, or the other way around.  
Some items were rather personal, the photo frame above the kitchen unit for instance, like were the canoe, the cups and saucers and the throw which had been draped over the couch when they arrived. The shower rooms, one for men and one for women, and the large tv-screen, made the place quite welcoming indeed.

On the other hand, there were many plywood walls which made the place look cheap and the doors she'd seen so far were old and needed some fresh paint.

She sighed several times and then decided to get up.

The place where agent Hanna had arranged a bed for her was upstairs. In the dim light, she saw there were three comparable small rooms. She shook her head. They actually looked like prisoner cells. Not a place where she wanted to be or should be.

The plain office clock showed the time. Early in the morning. The weird, very petite, old woman who'd taken care of her and agent Callen told them she would be back later this morning. She didn't say though when 'later' would be, but Macey already decided she would insist of another place to stay. If this was a safe house, it was a strange one indeed.

She tip-toed down the stairs, careful not to wake Callen who she expected was in one of the similar rooms.

She was surprised to see him asleep on the couch, which seemed quite uncomfortable as a place to sleep in her opinion. An well-used blanket didn't really cover his bare upper body and Macey made sure her steps wouldn't wake him. Carefully, she took the blanket and covered him better.  
"Not now, Anna." It was an unconscious mumble in his sleep, she knew. Still… She stood with an edge of the blanket, not knowing what to do. Then she just let it hang and decided she'd better back off.  
'Anna'… Of course there was a woman in his life.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed || 9.30 in the morning**

The smell of fresh coffee awoke him shortly after 8 in the morning. It was a welcoming thing, which could hardly be said for his companion in this place.

"You had a bad night, eh?" he tried.

"Sure." Her response was short. She paused and so did he. Then she finally asked "Do you think that, ehm, that boss of yours could arrange another place to stay? For me? Or that I can go back home to —"

"Sure, you must be kidding!" Callen interrupted, a grin on his face which now nearly irritated her.

"I'm not. It's just… this place. It's unheimisch and it makes me feel like a hostage. Like a prisoner perhaps."

He nodded. "It's a prison indeed. And well, it's one of the aspects of a safe house, you know. The fact that its inhabitants are being well protected. So actually, you're right."

His response was irritating her even more, and this time he noticed. "Let me try and see if Hetty can find some time as soon as possible. She's about to help you through some files, right? Perhaps you can help us to solve this case. Would be great."

Callen heard the shortest huff as her reply. He sipped some of the hot coffee and gratefully took a bite of the breakfast pancakes which looked fresh. Hetty's work, he assumed. Like Hetty must have arranged fresh clothes which of course fit perfectly.  
Meanwhile, he was thinking how he would prepare Hetty for a discussion with this Macey, who seemed to be on a war-path, and the other way around as well. And how he would arrange it that these two women would allow him to be there when files were put on the table.

Hetty arrived shortly after nine in the morning, dressed in one of her impeccable pantsuits and a very polite smile on her face. One — Callen knew — she used if there were allies she was working on just to gain the right information for the purposes of their own agency.  
"I see you found the breakfast. Did you like it?"

Macey smiled back, just as politely. "It was good. Now, about these files…"

"Please, miss Campbell, ease yourself. We've got all the time there is."

She shook her head. "I don't agree. It feels… well. With what happened yesterday and last week, we'd better get this over and done. As for this place, I'd really appreciate that I can move to another place."

"Oh dear…" Hetty shook her head in incomprehension. "Let's do this step by step, shall we? First of all, it must be a relief for you to hear that Mike Stone, the truck driver you met last night, is safely on his way back home to his wife and kids. Your conception was spot-on, miss Campbell. Agent Blye and detective Deeks managed to eliminate two persons and imprisoned another two. They'll arrive shortly."

"That's great news Hetty!" Callen responded. "Do we know who we're dealing with?"

One of the most stoic stares he recalled came his way. "I am sure you do remember, Mr. Callen, which rules we have for agents who are on sick-leave? Or, if you prefer, rules which go for cases when an agent is involved himself?" Hetty shook her head once again. "There is no 'WE' when it comes to dealing with. Your team can deal with them indeed."

"Well… You see, WE…" and he motioned to Macey as well, "We dealt with some crazy guys in there, and I'm sure you feel that you do want to share with us, don't you?"

There was a rare short smile, then she said "Perhaps miss Campbell in here will help us with this case."  
Hetty turned to Macey and suggested "Shall we see how we can fill in names with pictures and files, my dear? There's no need telling me you already know what's in the files. It's something which one of your former coworkers mentioned earlier, I think it was two days ago. You see, he told me you insisted on reading previous files, while your superior by that time nearly refused."

Macey nodded. "That's right. Keene, that's who we're talking about, was my last superior and he kept telling everybody it was a, uhm… a matter of PTSD. And that there was no need to share intel with someone who was too deeply involved with a personal case."

Callen couldn't help smirking with her retort. It was exactly what Hetty had wanted to convince him about, and Hetty sure knew how to play people. Still, he wouldn't like those two women starting some kind of psychological catfight.  
More serious now, he asked "But this guy, Keene, knew about your memory loss?"

She shrugged and tilted her head, which made her pony tail fall over her left shoulder. "I told him, my shrink must have explained, and another co-worker who visited me every now and then surely must have told him too. Still… Keene never mentioned it. All he did was trying to get me locked up."

"This co-worker, miss Campbell, what was his name?"

She held her chin down and her dark eyes focused on the older lady, who intrigued her as a matter of fact, although she wanted to hide that fact as best as possible. "Why? You think he's involved?"

"It's not what I asked," Hetty answered. "But since you're asking… Once you've reached the age I have and are still in the game, you learned that in fact there are too many people who double-cross the sincere ones. I've learned to distrust."  
A rare and sad smile appeared on her face. "Which, in fact, I seem to recognize with too many people around me as well."

Of course he knew she was talking about him, still, he wondered if Hetty knew more about Macey than she was actually saying, but there was no time to ask her because Macey replied "Vanderhilt. His name is Lucien Vanderhilt. And you know what? I trust him. I really do, ma'am, although I haven't seen him lately."

Callen would have sworn he noticed a glimpse of appreciation in Hetty's eyes. "It's MISS, miss Campbell, 'miss Lange'. And, for your information my dear, we've spoken with him only some hours ago. He actually confirmed what you've just told indeed."  
Hetty sipped some of the steaming hot coffee, which was rather uncharacteristic for the operations manager.

"Well then, shall we?" She got up on her feet, expecting the others to follow her.

"Wait, Hetty… you're not serious, are you?" Callen asked the moment he noticed how his boss walked passed the kitchen unit to the interrogation rooms.

"Actually, I am Mr. Callen. It's because I expect new visitors soon, accompanied by detective Deeks and agent Blye. Who-ever will be around need not know that miss Campbell is around as well, right?"

Of course she had given her thoughts about this already, Callen should have known. Still, it felt out of place to be in this location even though the door was still opened and the room wasn't guarded by one of the uniformed NCIS officers.

From the large blue bag, Hetty took three paper files. "Now then, are we ready?"

On the confirmative but insecure nod of the woman, Hetty asked "Is it okay with you if Mr. Callen in here will join us in here?"  
Macey sat down and wet her lips nervously. "No. I'm alright with that."

Callen smiled briefly. Then, like so many times in the real game, he rested his left foot against the wall and took a relaxed stance, yet remained observant as ever.

Slowly, Hetty opened the first and thinnest file and turned it to the woman opposite of her. "Now, let's start with your army file. What we have in here are names and photo's. You feel like going through this?"

"If you feel it is necessary…" She looked up, playing with her hair unconsciously. Innocently, Callen figured.

Hetty briefly nodded. "Just let us give it a try. You were working in Fallujah. Your superior was Nigel Treville. Treville ended up working in Baghdad as well, again as one of the officers in command."  
Macey nodded and read the short text, then studied the picture. "Sounds okay with me. Right?"

"Dear girl, there's no right or wrong in here. What we need you to do is to see if all the names fit with the pictures, and to see if anything rings a bell. If anything stands out, we need to find it as soon as possible indeed, so we will be able to recognize people. People from your past who may be after you and for which reason."

Again, there was a nervous nod.  
"Jeremy Weaver. A fellow officer who was caught by enemy fire in Baghdad, the Green Zone, while the two of you were in the same shift. You were left unharmed."  
Again, she read, now biting her lower lip. She sighed deeply after reading some silent minutes, but she didn't comment.  
"Aron Schatzman. Two months later. Nearly the same situation."

"Why, Hetty. Those men can't be here." Callen commented in a soft voice.  
It caused a cold but very short glance and Callen understood that Hetty didn't want him to intervene at all.

"Treville," she then said, "Have you ever met him after Iraq?"

Again, Macey was silent for a while. "I… I don't know. Perhaps. I don't think so."

"Alright then". Hetty took the file, scanned the remaining pages, took a pencil and scribbled some unreadable words on one of the pages and closed the folder. She then looked up, scanned the face of the other woman.  
"Shall we go on, miss Campbell?"

"Of course."

Her response was clear, her behavior though was different. He read it, and he knew that Hetty did this too.  
Callen tried to imagine being in her situation. He met too many enemies from the past, caught by surprise or being lured into damn difficult situations and trying to make the right decision in matters of seconds. But then, he knew who he was dealing with, and he had a team to have his back.  
For her, it was different. She was alone. She told him that someone had been looking for her in the past. But for her, it was different. No back-up. On the contrary, she'd felt that she had to be on the run.

"Then came Mosul," Hetty said.

"Yes." It came as a whisper.

Hetty paused, hoping that the younger woman would continue. But she didn't. "Can you tell us what happened in there?"

"But you know."

Callen didn't know, and he actually felt out of place.

Hetty now calmly leaned forward. "Is there anything you remember about it?"

She shook her head. "Only what… what I read. Scenes which were on tv. Still… They said, no ehm, they told me."

There was only a short nod from Hetty. "Victor Hernancdez, Alicia Eisen, John Mason, Donald Garrett and Thomas Carlilse. A hospital ward. Children."  
There was no response this time.

"You need a break?" Callen asked. "Something to drink perhaps?"

Again, no response. "Let me get you some coffee. Could use dome as well."

It was Hetty who said "I really prefer some tea. Let me join you, mr. Callen."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

"Did you really have to do this, Hetty?"  
She saw a flash of anger in his clear blue eyes, and he continued. "Why? Is it that you don't trust her? What is it you want to prove, that it's PTSD indeed? And if so, would you blame her? Cause if you want to know, I don't. Or is it that you don't believe her perhaps?"

"On the contrary Mr. Callen." There was a sense of sadness, something Callen wasn't used to. Her head nodded to the small screen, which was automatically connected. "Let me get the coffee. See if you can talk to her, Mr. Callen. To… well. Do what you think you have to do."

The smirk on his face surprised her. He was about to reply, but then the doors opened and his team entered, joined by four uniformed officers and the persons which belonged in here, to be interrogated. It was an automatic action of the agent in charge to block the screen as he greeted the others.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!_


	17. Chapter 17

**Dots, chapter 17**

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

~ "Did you really have to do this, Hetty?" ~

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boathouse || 10.20 in the morning**

All Callen did was what he remembered Hetty had mentioned before. Whoever the persons were that Deeks and Kensi brought in—those persons would remain in this place until they had interrogated them, until perhaps they had explained what had happened before at Devil's Canyon Road.

"Turn around," Hetty nearly hissed. Not only did she want the young woman out of sight, she preferred that the agent in charge be kept away as well. After all, he was last seen with the former ICE agent and it was as easy as one and one was two. No way he was in a perfect shape.

Her smile was as impenetrable as ever, as she saw the whole bunch of people walking by to the first interrogation room, where Deeks closed the door once when both suspects were in. He understood what their boss was worried about.

"We'll need that room as well, Hetty," Kensi said. "Sam will be here soon. One suspect a room. Nell and Granger are seeing to it that we can have them in here for the rest of the day."

It was Callen who responded with a grim smile "See what you can do. Give us five more minutes guys."

Kensi nodded. "Will do so."

"That's excellent, young lady," Hetty said. And with a more serious face, she addressed Callen "You'll have three minutes, actually, Mr. Callen. Three minutes. There will be an address on your cell phone within the moment you have left this building."  
She stretched out her arm and opened her hand. "These are the files, well, the digital files in fact. Go through them, see what intel you can pass on to us. Miss Blye in here will send you the photos of the men we've got in here."  
He simply took what she was offered and turned to the second interrogation room. He hesitated for about a minute, observing the situation in front of him. Macey was studying the pages in front of her, meanwhile rubbing away a lonely tear with her left hand.  
Perhaps she didn't know he was observing this scene, perhaps she did and she didn't mind he saw her like this.

He stepped forward, making his presence clear, and lay his bandaged right hand on her left hand which was now on the table. "We gotta go."

She pulled back her hand and looked up. His voice, which sounded gentle now, corresponded with the look in his eyes. Still, there was something offish, and that was why she decided it was a simple way of how he worked.  
"I don't need any pity, mister Callen. If we have to go, I'll go. Did you ask if it's save enough to go home?"

Callen shook his head and gestured to the door "Let's go. I'll explain later."

She got up.  
He was only a second behind her. The folder on the table was opened, showing a younger and uniformed Macey Campbell or Marcia Schwartz, carrying a wounded and crying young boy.

Callen shook his head, closed the file and followed her. He'd ask her about it later.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Sanford Drive, Los Angeles || 11:30 AM**

The address Nell had sent to his cell phone was one of the safe houses in town Callen didn't know. It was an ordinary house in an ordinary street, with space for two cars on the driveway. The small Honda didn't stand out in here.

He entered the code he received on the small code lock and he entered the living room, followed by Macey.

He checked the inside of the property, while his temporary companion did the same, though only in the kitchen. The kitchen unit was dated, but clean and functional. The cupboards contained enough fresh food to survive for the next few days.

A rather cozy living-room with a wooden floor. Furniture in here was fresh and new, though never too expensive looking. He figured it came from that Swedish store.  
The same went for the two bedrooms. Comfortable. One designed for kids, boy or girl, the master bedroom with a king-size like he knew that would never fit in his own bedroom. A renovated bathroom. Too much luxury, or perhaps he never had dared to feel at home enough to take the time to furnish his house.

Macey hadn't been too talkative on their 20 minutes' drive to this place. Different from the day before, when it was she who knew what to do. The session with Hetty probably had been tough and she was tired, so far was clear.

"How about that coffee we've missed?" she asked now she noticed Callen had returned to the kitchen as well. An ordinary question, yet her voice sounded uncertain.

"Sounds good," Callen agreed. He realized that all he had was a thumb drive. No paper files, no computer or laptop either. It was no use continuing the session Macey had with Hetty. A short smile appeared on his face which she noted.  
"What's so funny?" Macey asked, nearly snappy.

"Nothing, actually. It was just that… well, this. This all is so 'not like me'. A fully furnished house and somebody asking me if I want a cup of coffee too."

She was silent for a while, then decided to simply ask what she was thinking of. "No-one around to offer you something to drink? You're living alone?"

He raised his brows. "That's what I said, right?"  
She hummed, decided not to ask any more. Not now.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boathouse || 11:15 in the morning**

Reluctance, but no real anger, nor fear.  
It was all that Sam Hanna discovered when he watched on the screen how Kensi and Deeks were trying to get any useful information from the man who sat behind the table. Oscar Almeida.

"You think somebody sacrificed these men?" Sam asked, knowing Hetty was standing right behind him.

He more or less heard the small and appreciative nods of the older woman's head. She scraped her throat before she answered "It was exactly what I was thinking of, Mr. Hanna. From what Mr. Deeks reported earlier on, it was as if this Almeida and Lionel Martin decided to cooperate to a certain degree. Which could not be said of the other victims, unfortunately."

"Sacrificed as well." Sam shook his head. "I still don't get it. Deeks and Kensi, and the guys from the other team, estimated there must have been another four men accompanying them. Why send a whole army for G and this ICE agent? It's over the top, completely overdone."

"It's worrying me too, Mr. Hanna. I've tried to go through the files with this remarkable young woman, until, well, until time was up and your co-workers came in."

He gazed in the older boss' pale blue eyes "Anything you need to share?"

This time, Hetty shook her head. "Hardly. From the time she worked for our forces, there may be a couple of people who she didn't get along with. Like we all would have from former places we've worked. Perhaps she ran into people who hold a grudge against her for being a survivor. Never though, from this period, I feel there are any worrisome enemies." Again, she shook her head. "No, Mr. Hanna. I've got a feeling this all started during a later career."  
He understood. "ICE? If so, Deeks' initial idea might prove useful".

"In fact, Mr. Hanna, I assume Mr. Deeks' way of reasoning was spot on. But then, there's the why. Since Miss Schwartz was a victim herself before and we do not know what happened and why. All we have is the word of her co-worker."

"Who says he knows what happened," Sam said, not quite able to hide his frustration. "Unless we have suspects, she's gonna be living in a protected surroundings."

"Right. I suggest you go in there for another hour of trying to get some useful information from this Lionel Martin," Hetty said. "Meanwhile, I'll see what the younsters can find out." She simply nodded toward the large senior agent, who knew what to do.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Sanford Drive, Los Angeles || 12:15**

She nibbled on an apple, meanwhile changing her gaze from him to the window in the living room.  
For a few minutes, Callen remained silent. Then he gently remarked "It's supposed to be a safe house, Macey."

"Supposed to be. Those words. I mean, you either KNOW if it's safe or you have doubts about it. What is it going to be for you?" Her response came quickly, as if she had been thinking it over already.  
"Listen, I've never been in this place before. It looks okay to me. If anyone would come near, we'd see him coming. There's a backway out." Callen leaned back with his weight against the seat of the chair, carefully balancing it on its back-legs. He added in a relaxed voice "Besides, my team will be alert. There are camera's in the street, different angles. So… just relax."

In silence, she ate her apple until she finished it. Then she asked "This team of yours… You like to work like that?"

He nodded. "Wanna talk? We could take the couch." He hoped she would join him, perhaps she'd open up, perhaps there would be some new clues. He lowered his chair on all its four and got up. He heard a small sigh, and saw how she followed.  
Callen flopped down on the couch, took off his shoes and eased his feet on the coffee table. "The team… Well, what can I say. They're great. It's like one big family, actually."

There was a small frown. Then she sat down next to him and he noticed how she seemed to struggle with his reply.  
"One big family… does it feel good? How does your own family think about them?" she asked. Like him, she took of her shoes and put them aside. She pulled up her feet and

He hesitated a second. "I only recently found out my father is still alive. Met him, he's living in Russia. My mother and sister died. So, my team really feel like a family."  
He didn't hear the usual 'so sorry' which he actually expected and glanced sideward. There was a look on her face and he knew she understood.

"You're a lucky man, agent Callen. This big friend of yours seems to be someone you can really count on."

Lucky… In a way he was. It was no use trying to explain how bad his first years had been. But yeah, he had the Hanna family who considered them as one of them. Hetty, who sometimes treated him like her own son.  
Both were silent for a while, then he asked "How about you?"

He saw her eyes darken and read the emotions on her face. She shook her head and shrugged "My father is still alive. He… you know, I know where he lives. But he doesn't remember me, and" — she looked away and swallowed several times before she continued — "well, he lives in Wisconsin. In a special home, for people with Alzheimer disease. He can't help me with my memory. And there's so little I can do for him." Macey sniffed, and added "We're quite a couple, he and I."

"Crap," he uttered.  
Reaching out for her and letting her know how he felt was a natural thing, even though she told him before she never wanted his pity. "Depending on yourself must be… quite hard". He remembered it all too well.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS headquarters, Los Angeles || past lunchtime**

Hetty Lange stood behind the analysts and asked "Still no new facts about this Blake?"

Eric shook his head. "Nothing yet. No facial recognition, nothing to work with, Hetty."

She let out a loud sigh. Well, if so… Miss Jones, I'd like you to take a laptop to the location where Mr. Callen and Miss Campbell are staying. After that, please do see and Mr. Hanna, see if you can help him. The fine art of interrogation… you might learn a lot indeed."

"Those two men," Nell said. "Oscar Almeida and Lionel Martin? We assume they're La Eme. They've been working together for a while. Does the name Marco Mercedes ring a bell?"

"Thé Mercedes?" Eric wanted to know. His partner nodded. "Wow. That's deep La Eme indeed."

"Outstanding, Miss Jones, Mr. Beale, truly outstanding. Now, are there any possibilities to find links between Mercedes and Blake?" Hetty wanted to know.  
"Will be on it, Hetty," Eric said.

She nodded and turned, leaving the Ops center. Once downstairs, she sat down behind her desk, opened the blue bag once again and took the thickest of the three files, studying them even better than before. She had to find a clue, sooner rather than later.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading!_

 _Knirbenrots_


	18. Chapter 18

**Dots, chapter 18**

* * *

A/N: It's good to be able to 'use' the team of NCIS LA (thank you, Shane Brennan, for creating this team, and CBS for showing us!), mix in some own characters and write a story. I hope you will like this chapter as well. It'll take a while before a next chapter will be up… #holidays

 _Knirbenrots_

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Sanford Drive, Los Angeles **

A brand new laptop now stood in front of them on the coffee table. Callen held the thumb drive Hetty gave him, looked up and Macey nodded "Go ahead."

Callen plugged the item in the usb port, and soon the contents showed on the screen. Three files. They'd been through the first one, he supposed, since it simply was named 'Army'.  
The second file was the largest. "Guess this is from the period after the army."

Again, Macey nodded. Perhaps she already knew what to expect, but then he didn't. "You know where you served in those years?" Callen asked.

"Yeah." She took a deep breath. "Mostly as a team of two, sometimes alone, undercover. Like in the last assignment."

Callen nodded. "Tell me about it."  
Macey clutched her arms to her chest. "Dunno. Like I said, it is just what they told me, and from what I read, from a debriefing of a co-worker. Not from what I remember. So, could we — can't we just watch and read. Please?"

He glanced her way. It was definitely something she insisted to, but her whole body language screamed the opposite. "Of course," he said in a soft voice.

It took another full hour when they finally came up with names. "So this is Keene. My handler from the time when I worked with ICE. And he worked with that guy?" Macey said. She pointed at the picture of Martin Blake. "They ruined my life, those bastards." It was supposed to come out as an angry exclamation, however her voice betrayed her. She jumped up from the couch and paced around until she moved to the large window which overlooked the garden.

He noticed how she rubbed her eyes and for a second, Callen didn't know what to do or say. Seeing how someone so tough now was so vulnerable, affected him more than he expected. 'Perhaps being broken is normal'. Was it him who said that, or someone else?

It wasn't like he was supposed to feel, though.  
Not now.|  
It was… he was through with relationships anyway, again disappointed now Anna had apparently preferred fun over care. Besides, he'd seen too many broken relationships, too much violence and tragedy once it concerned family. No, not now. Still…  
Callen got up as well and stepped her way. He stood close to her. Closer than he usually did when he was involved in a case. Was he only fooling himself? Gently, he touched her upper arm and said "We should stop digging."

There was the lightest shake of her head, which made her hair brush over his arm. "It's okay. It's just… I'm tired. Haven't slept last night, and… actually sleep and I don't really have the best relationship."

Callen chuckled softly. "Believe me, I do know how that is." He took a seat again and studied the picture and information which was on the screen. More serious he asked "It's this man you saved me from. You didn't recognize him? We believe he was after you. Martin Blake."

"Martin…" She closed her eyes for just a second. "Yes. Martin. I remember his name. I thought it was Blake Martin. I told Keene it was Martin. It was him."

Callen narrowed his eyes, then grabbed his phone and called his boss.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed **

Hetty entered the central room of the boatshed and activated the screens of the interrogation rooms. Her agents had been trying to get information from the lawbreakers. Sam had called the person he talked to 'reluctant'.

Hetty now saw that Sam and Nell changed rooms with Kensi and Deeks. She chose the microphone mode of the first room and heard Kensi speaking as she put a picture on the table. "Gerald Keene. Tell me about him."  
The man who sat at the other end of the table kept leaning back, without looking at the picture. There was a simple smug smile on his face and he shook his head.  
Hetty zoomed in when Deeks tried again. He mentioned a whole series of names. Whether it was as a final try to get the information they needed, Hetty did not know. The only thing she did was focus on the eyes of Lionel Martin.

"Gerald Keene? No? Thomas Roberts? Hetty Lange? Oscar Almeida…Hah, I got you in there, didn't I?" Deeks' voice sounded bright as ever. "Oscar. You know that he already told us about your mission, right? It would be a lot easier if you'd do the same."  
The man hardly blinked, even though Deeks paused a minute.  
Then the blond detective got up and paced through the room until he stopped right behind Martin, who started to wiggle a bit in the chair and now sat straight as he definitively started to feel uncomfortable. "You know that we might be able to make, how shall I say… we can make some arrangements once you decide to cooperate, don't you, Lionel?"

Like Hetty, Kensi also focused on Lionel Martin's eyes. There was no response to Deeks' words or action. She really didn't get it, his and Oscar Almeida's role were so negligible for the eye. Yet, there had to be a bigger plan, but what?

"Tell me what you know about Marcia Schwartz?" This time she showed the man an older picture of the agent.  
Nothing, not the slightest sign of recognition.

Deeks sat down again and took over. "Lucien Vanderhilt? Nell Jones? No? How about Juan Zorgietta, Marco Mercedes or Martin Blake?"

There was the slightest change in his body language and the dilation of his pupils was clear. "Blake, huh? And Mercedes." Deeks repeated, nodding as there finally was a physical reaction of the other man. Then, his phone buzzed and he took it from the pocket of his jeans. A short message from Hetty, which read 'A break. Main room, now'.

Deeks took a deep sigh, showed Kensi his phone and then said "We'll be back in here, Martín."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS headquarters, Los Angeles **

His phone rang only twice. With nobody else around, Eric Beale answered without thinking. "Yeah?"

"Henrietta Lange, is she in?"  
There was no announcement of the caller, which made Eric sit straight up. He pressed some buttons, and noticed unfortunately that there was no number in the small screen. Just 'anonymous'.  
"Who's asking?" Eric wanted to know. He let the system check where the call came from, despite the fact the number did not show.

"It doesn't matter. If she's not around, she will most probably be at your safe boatshed right now. Which is good. Please listen carefully, mister. We want a trade. Your people, in the boatshed, against someone else."

He started stammering. "Our — our people. When I tell them, they will be… leave. Gone. Lock the building. No way —"  
"You are wrong," the person said, interrupting. "Our people are around already. So call her, tell her."

"Tell her what?" Eric nearly whispered.

"Let her know there's no way out for them. Not until she tells us where we can find Marcia Schwartz."

Eric nearly choked. "Why?"  
It was the wrong question and he knew it. The connection was ended, there was nobody to answer. The phone was pinged anyway, the Marina. Too close to the boatshed indeed…

The first call Eric made wasn't to Hetty. He knew all too well that no matter what, Callen would have his phone near him.  
He pressed the number and waited some far too fast heartbeats until the head agent responded with a short "What's up, Eric?"

His voice sounded very shaky "Callen? I think something is very, very wrong." He explained "He… I don't know who he is. But they said… They want her. They… They have the team."

* * *

 _Thank you, once again, for reading and leaving your review. And to all of you: a happy NewYear!_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 **DOTS**

* * *

Thank you all for reading and reviewing the previous chapter(s). In case I haven't thanked you personally for your kind and inspiring words: thank you so much LindaWigginton, JaniceS, Skippy, F4llon, Mulderette, FrenchFan, Wotumba and Blackbear53, for coming back to read!

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Sanford Drive, Los Angeles **

"What do we have to do now, Callen?" Eric asked. His voice was shaky, even through the telephone.

His mind was in a turmoil. "Eric, If what they say is true... Where are the others? And did you inform Hetty, or Granger, yet?"

"No", Eric confessed. "All of the team are in the boatshed, and so is Hetty. Granger is still in San Diego. I — well, I just didn't know what to do. Who to call. I — "

"It's okay Eric. We'll have to see what we can plan."  
Callen paused a beat, his eyes darting around until they met hers. He didn't want her to worry, but she probably read it in his eyes, or heard the urge in his voice. He sighed deeply and decided "Listen, if we hurry, I suppose it's only a five minute drive to the office. Go to the armory and see if you can fetch me handguns, a knife and the best GPS trackers the office has. The smallest you can find. Button cams as well. Oh, and I'll be needing you too, Beale."

He planned ahead and knew there was going to be a lot at stake and they had to play this game very, very carefully. "First, call Granger. Ask for assistance, asap. Then, call Hetty. Explain as short as possible. Try not to mention any names at all. Tell her you'll call back as soon as you know more. Do not let her, or any of the team, call around. I'm not too sure if they're being watched or worse, being bugged."  
Callen simply nodded when Eric replied "Will do so. See you soon."

"What was that about?" Macey asked, once the phone call was ended. Her eyes locked on his face and she knew something was going on and she was involved anyhow.

"It's complicated... it was — do you remember when I told you about my team? How you remarked they have my back... well, they do. Like I have the responsibility as a team leader to keep them safe."

"Of course you do," Macey understood. She nodded, then she frowned. "But then, you're injured, not working and you're in here. If anything happens, it's not up to you to jump up and get back in the game, right? So, what's going on and who did you ask to get all this stuff ready? Like if you're equipping a complete army and —" she paused and shook her head. "This is about them, about your team. And about me, right?"

"Yes it is", Callen said as he put on his boots. "I'll explain when we're on our way. Get ready, we have a job to do."  
The information was short and simple, maybe even too cold, but it worked as she did what he wanted.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed || earlier**

"Yes. I understand, Mr. Beale."  
Henrietta Lange did not repeat any of the information the technical analyst just gave her. It was a lot, and she just disconnected the call, sat down and took off her glasses. She then rubbed her eyes as she gathered her thoughts.  
She supposed there would hardly any time to inform and prepare the team members. Including the security officer outside, there were six of them. But she had no clue how many others they would be facing. If what Eric just said was true, she wondered if there was any time left before they knew.

She shook her head. The information she had read about the woman wasn't that extraordinary. And now, all of a sudden, agent Marcia Schwartz, also known as Macey Campbell, entered the life of agent Callen and with that, in a case which she never envisioned would be theirs.

She typed the short message in her phone 'A break. Main room, now'.  
It alerted the others, except for the guard.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Hetty found it hard to find the right words to explain there was a serious threat to the four of her team. That's why she decided to keep the message as brief as possible. "As you understand, Mr. Beale decided to inform assistant director Granger too, like he called agent Callen to let him know what is going on. A tactical back-up team will be around in half an hour from now, but as you all will understand, that may be slightly later than we really need them. Now, if any of you ladies and gentlemen have a perfect plan B, please do not hesitate to share it."

"Damnit," Deeks spoke. "It must have been that guy Blake. He's seen this spot. Perhaps Keene knows it too." He shook his head.

Sam did the same, but he added "Never mind now. We'd better plan for what's ahead."

"What if we all get outside, split up and see how —" Kensi didn't get the chance to finish her sentence. Loud voices and two shots sounded outside.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS headquarters, Los Angeles, late in the afternoon**

He'd driven the car madly fast over the ever so jammed roads in the city of Los Angeles. Callen had fallen nearly silent, Macey however had asked several times what was going on, and his brief reply was that he didn't actually knew, but answers would be coming soon.

Now, he slowed down and wheeled the inconspicuous Honda on the small parking lot next to a building which looked abandoned from the outside.

Both got out and Callen opened the large, wooden door. The office inside, well-hidden for every outsiders so far, was nearly deserted. But within seconds, Eric came running down the stairs to meet them. "Hey Callen. I did what you asked me to do. But Granger won't be in here in time. And the back-up team, well, perhaps it will take them over half an hour to arrive."

Callen nodded, yet Macey notice the wiggle of his jaw and how he clenched his fists. He inhaled deeply, then breathed out in a sigh and said "We can't wait for them. You've got ears and eyes around the boatshed?"

"I, ehrm, well… Lost contact with them, Callen. Actually, I don't know what's going on in there right now." Eric mumbled something unheard, juggled with the hand-held tablet which he then showed. Meanwhile, he curiously observed this woman who came with Callen.  
He'd read about her, seen pictures of the woman during different stages of her life, yet in real life she was different. Smaller. Slender, but not skinny like the millions of Californian girls. In fact, Eric found it hard to describe her. Her dark blond hair seemed wavy, but it was cut in long layers and it nearly reached her shoulders. With the right make-up, she'd probably look like one of the famous actresses. But then, Eric supposed this woman didn't really care about her looks. He sighed deeply, thinking how Nell would feel right now. He needed to focus on what was going on, like Callen did.

Macey was unaware of what the technical analyst's thoughts were. She wanted to know "But how can you make plans if you don't know what's going on?"

Callen glanced sideward while he replied "That is what we do, right? It's how we work."  
He noticed how she shrugged and realized that her situation was very different from his. She was no Kensi, no Anna, although she was a trained agent as well. Whether she blocked everything that went with a tough life she once had, or not, it didn't matter right now. For a split second, he had his doubts if she would cooperate at all. "Listen," he added, his voice calm and softer now. "Despite what it is you went through in the past and despite your new life and despite what happened these last few days, do you think you can trust your training?"

Her head was tilted a bit and her dark eyes widened, which made her look even more innocent than she should be, with the career she had so far.

"Tell us, Callen, what we should do?" Eric now asked.

His clear blue eyes were confident and even Eric forgot that the experienced lead agent was on sick leave at the moment. "I'm going to lure them out of the boatshed. Leading them to the safe house," Callen said.

"You're kidding."

Callen sent her an instant smirk. "What makes you think I am? Besides, I wasn't thinking you should be there. It's just — we need to buy time I think. Time until there's an extra team around."

"Where do you need me?" Eric asked, nearly eager yet nervous too, now he knew they would be a team of three.

"Waiting and watching, together with Macey." Callen said. "Make sure the three of us are connected. Ear-wigs, camera's, those things. And the moment I get out of the boatshed, Eric, you'll be in, the wet way."

Macey frowned, not understanding what Callen meant. She was glad to hear that Eric knew exactly what the other man meant. "Coming in through the hatch from the water of the marina, you mean?" Eric nodded. "They won't expect that at all. Is that why you wanted the weapons?"

"That's right. They won't expect you indeed, and we should assume that our people will be disarmed. The stuff will work, even when wet, right?" Callen said. "And who-ever is around, won't let the team go just like that. In fact, I can only hope they'll trust me and will act the way I'm thinking they will."

"But what if they don't?" Macey now asked. "What's your plan B?"

This time it was Callen's turn to shrug. "I'm trusting my team. Never mind, I think we should hurry. You got everything ready, Eric?"

"At the armory," Eric answered.

Callen lead them to the place Eric mentioned, telling them "Perfect. You both need to be ready to but in."

Eric took the items he needed from the table and handed the same things to Callen and Macey. She held them and studied them, licking her dry lips as she probably recognized what it was.  
"Macey?" Callen asked. "Gonna need your help. Can you fix this?" The small button camera was on his flat left hand. Deep down, he wondered if it was just a way of testing if she knew what to do, since he could have asked Eric to do the same thing. But then, he noticed the concentration in her eyes and actually he didn't mind trying to work with her again.  
She was close now, closer than he let most people come, and he smelled something sweet. Vanilla, he guessed. No expensive perfume but probably just the shampoo which was provided in the safe house since she did not bring any personal belongings. Strange how thoughts like this crossed his mind at a moment like this.  
Macey slowly breathed out, took the miniscule item and carefully put it next to the third button of his blue shirt.  
Of course he felt the warmth of her body and he knew for sure she did too as he noticed her blush.  
"Thanks." Callen heard how his voice was huskier than normally.

He could handle the earwig himself. "Please, do use yours too. It's better than any phone."

It was easy for Macey and she nodded. "What do you want me to do?"  
"You'll be the linking pin. Stay close to Eric. If something goes wrong, Eric and you need to be the witnesses. Lead the extra team to the boatshed, through water or air or simply through the front door. Make sure the bad guys get caught."

She wrinkled her brow. "You think it's wise? I mean… I don't think I know how to handle that. "

Again, Callen shrugged. "It's the only plan B I can think of." He let out a deep sigh and added "You do know how to shoot a gun, do you?"

There was a nervous giggle now and she replied "I know I should. To be honest, I don't really know."

He nodded. "We need to go now. Put on a vest once we get there. You guys good?"

There were no negative responses and so Callen figured it was time for action.

This time, they used one of the large Fords which Eric drove to the Marina in matter of minutes.

* * *

 _Yeah, thanks for reading. Please let me know if you liked it! Promise: the next chapter will be uploaded sooner..._

 _Knirbenrots_


	20. Chapter 20

**Dots**

 **Chapter 20**

* * *

 _AN: An odd day to upload a chapter in this storyline. Odd, since my thoughts go out to the #NCISLAFamilia and the cast and crew of my favorite television show. We'll have to do without Miguel Ferrer. Without Granger. Things will change for ever for lots of people. RIP, Miguel..._  
 _Knirbenrots_

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed**

"Oh!" Nell exclaimed, all pale now.  
Different from Deeks, who starter swearing aloud "Crap... Johansson!"

"Do you think that... well. You think we'll have to check if he, if Johansson..." Kensi didn't finish her sentence.

Sam shook his head. "Useless."

He was right.

Seconds later, someone pounded on the door. It was Hetty who opened the door and the first one who stumbled in was Walt Johansson, one of the most reliable uniformed officers in the city of Angels for NCIS. Like Nell, he was pale.  
But in his case, pain was the reason. He held his right hand against his left upper arm, blood seeping through his fingers. Five men entered the room immediately behind Johansson.

"Such a great surprise, Miss Lange, to see you all in here. Agent Blye, detective Deeks… Good to see you see you again. And ah, we could have some more questions being answered. More, much more than we discussed during the short period I spent in here, the last time."  
A smug smile appeared on the face of the speaker. He paused a moment, glanced at the team members and added: "You must be special agent Sam Hanna."  
With a nearly polite smile, he extended his right arm in an attempt to shake hands with Nell. However, she refused as she crossed her arms in front of her just comfort herself and hide the nervous tension she felt.

"Mr. Blake… To what do we owe this visit?" Hetty asked. Her eyes were ice-cold and so were the words she spoke.

"Oh, I think you know. Question is: does _**she**_ know it too?" Martin Blake asked.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Los Angeles Marina || Palawan Way**

The grey Ford Expedition was parked several buildings away. From the passenger seat, special agent in charge G. Callen rested his elbows on the dashboard. He'd unbuckled already, just like the others now did. With a small binocular he scanned the area.

"Anything?" Eric asked softly, as if he was afraid to be overheard.

Callen lowered the binocular and shook his head. "Nothing, in fact. Or should I say no-one?" He turned to Eric and Macey. She'd taken the backseat but leaned forward now. "Three cars nearby. Not ours. No number plates, and no-one on the look-out."

Eric let his hand go through his hair. "You didn't spot Johansson somewhere?"

Callen shook his head. "And what you got?"

The other man held his tablet and pointed "Five cell phones, all of them anonymous. Ours. Then I picked up four other devices as well." He smiled and added "Of course I already put them in the system and let it run. When Nell and I —" He paused, his face now worried. Sorrow and questions creeped into his voice. "You think there will be a moment soon to check the computers back at Ops?"

Callen frowned at those words before he replied "Sure, Eric. Now go on, what else you got to share?"

The light of the tablet reflected in his glasses as Eric studied the screen once again. "Those phones, ours I mean... They're all situated in here." Now he showed the lay-out of the boatshed.  
For him and Callen there were no secrets inside, but Macey curiously leaned forward between both front seats. She watched on the screen of the small device how rooms were separated from each other. There were more rooms and corners than she remembered from the few hours she'd spent in there. "There's another room behind that one with the table and the large screen, the couch and that small kitchen unit?" she asked.

"There is," Callen confirmed. He pointed "This is the main entrance. It's a small corridor, with those two interrogation rooms you remember."

She nodded. "This is where the coffee table is, and the couch, right? With the private room behind it. And there's the stairs, two cells up there."

"You probably had no eye for it, and so you missed this larger room behind the private room. One door. And the door behind this pole, which leads to the same room," Callen explained. He wondered why the phones were in there. "You figure the team is in that same room?" he asked.

"You're asking me?" Eric looked up.  
He paused and watched the screen again, then stared at the building itself. He pushed up his glasses unconsciously and tried to envision the room Callen meant. The paneled wall, the three canoes arranged in the racks against it. Life jackets. The small bedside table which stood around the corner with the table lamp. He shook his head. "It wouldn't be my choice, Callen. From our point of view, the central room would be more logical. Then you'd be able to see who comes in. It's… defendable, I mean, if you would keep the team locked in there, you could use them as ehm, as a shield."  
His own thoughts surprised Eric. Talking about his friends, the people he cared about and whom he worked with nearly every day of the week, in such a stand-offish way was new to him. He now understood how the agents had to work. It would be impossible for Sam and Callen, or for Kensi and Deeks, to continuously think about the persons behind the names and the faces when it came to making decisions that could cost lives. He simply had to detach from his own feelings. There was no screen on which he watched what was going on.  
This was real life, in the field. With real people, his co-workers… practically his family. Eric could hardly hide the short shiver that he couldn't control.

"Does it change your plans, Callen?" Macey's question broke Eric's scary thoughts and Callen's as well.

It was the moment he realized it was time to come into action. And it was going to be a delicate planning, since he didn't want his fellow workers to get hurt.

He let his gaze go over her face and wondered, once again, why anyone wanted something from her and what it was they thought Macey Campbell had, or knew.

Callen shook his head. "Not really. Like I said, I'm going over there and assume they'll let me in. They know you and I were in contact, they know there's no team, since all of them are in there. Sure, they might expect there could be a back-up team, but heck… they know so many things about me and the team… We have to assume that they know there's no way I would put them in danger. So, yeah. This should work, don't you think?"

She bit her lips and he could read the doubt in her eyes. He waited, not sure if he should ask what was bothering her. He didn't have to.

"We don't know what's going on exactly, do we? If it works, what you planned… will that extra team be in time? Will they be… necessary? And what if they're late… where will you lead them to?"

It wasn't something he meant to do, and the moment he lay his hand on her underarm he wondered if he went too far. She didn't pull back her arm from his hand – not too large, but strong nevertheless, and long fingers – and looked up until she rested her gaze to his face and his clear blue eyes, which were warmer than she remembered.  
"It'll be alright Macey," he said. He noticed she was worried and understood it had to do with the fact she didn't control the situation nor her memory. "Trust me. If there are any doubts about what's going on, we'll communicate. We can do this. Eric and you will be another back-up team they'll never expect. The moment I can lure some of those guys away from the boatshed, and you have any worries, Eric knows what to do to get to our team."

"That's right," Eric continued. If he did notice the change in behavior of both his passengers, he did not show his surprise. "We can go through the water, through the hatch, and surprise the others anyway, Macey."

She just hummed and looked away. "Okay then," she finally said. "If there's anything else you want me to do, just let me know."

Callen just nodded. Maybe he did want to share more, but this just wasn't the right moment. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Let's do this."

He got out, stretched his back and checked his gun. He walked away a forty feet and then he simply said "You can still hear me?"

She didn't answer, but her eyes widened.

"Sure thing Callen," Eric responded as he inhaled deeply and watched as the team leader crossed the street from behind one of the other cars which was parked near the boatshed.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed **

"Any plans?" Deeks whispered to no-one in particular.  
The other three agents did not respond immediately. Then it was Sam who replied by a simple shake of his head.

Kensi agreed with the senior agent and she murmured "Phones are gone, guns as well. We've got guards on the stairs."

"We can't… they'd hurt Hetty!" Nell spoke in the same low voice. Meanwhile, she wondered what the next step will be. "You think Hetty will lead them to where that woman stays, with Callen?"  
Again, Sam shook his head. "Believe me… She's making plans, a lot faster than the four of us can. Fact is, we can't share."

There was a short and nervous chuckle from Kensi. "Oh, but perhaps we cán" Slowly, she motioned her head to the corner of the cell. There was no way she was to utter her thoughts, and she figured it wasn't necessary; her coworkers would understand.  
She managed to sit as relaxed as possible and lifted her right arm. Then she started moving the fingers of her hand, sometimes using her underarm as well.  
Deeks breathed out a soft 'ah' and he knew what his partner was doing.

Half a minute later, Kensi simply nodded and rested her arms lower again.

"You told her we're okay?" Sam whispered.

Again, she nodded and replied just as soft "Figured she would know that too, but she needed to be confirmed."

"That's all?" Deeks asked. "Shouldn't you have added something like, like…" He shook his head, since he didn't know what else there was to share. He inhaled deeply and slowly let the breath escape through his nose.

Nell looked up and said what they perhaps all thought of. "Callen. Callen and Eric will arrange something, right?"

It wasn't exactly the most perfect one-way out Sam could envision, and he tried to envision how those two men would enter. "The hatch," he murmered. "They'll use it. They know it, we know it. There's no way these guys know about it."

"Should I—" Kensi stopped uttering what she thought, and corrected herself "Of course Hetty will know it too."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Oh, she tried. Tried to reason. Tried to hope nothing was really wrong. Tried to believe she was dealing with reasonable people. After all, those two men were considered to be the local directors of other agencies. She tried, but deep down, she understood that her intuition was right, and no matter how she tried, she knew that what she saw was what she got. Rogue men.

She now just sat on one of the colored chairs, leaning back in it so it hid the fact that it was impossible for her, because of her length, to lean forward with her elbows on the table. The large television screen was focused on the camera in the cell her team was in. And she watched. Sure, she mused, there was no sound. The team understood that their captors turned down the volume.  
They used sign language, but forgot that she was able to read lips too. And she noticed they were whispering, the words weren't pronounced fully and clear, so they probably were afraid they were overheard.

She knew that best thing to do was wait. She gazed at the men who were with her. Blake, icy calm, leaning his posture against one of the poles near the television screen. Oh, and he was watching her as well, she simply felt it. No trust, just waiting with her.

Gerald Keene. Nervous. On the couch, with one of the men she didn't know or recognize. Hetty guessed it was somehow a partner, of one of the gangs. Mercedes' men or Zorgietto's men. But then, that didn't matter.

Hetty knew that she could handle this. Stonewalling, ignoring the public she was with.

It must have been about half an hour later, and she hadn't moved unlike all the other people around her. By now, she counted five people in total, next to the two men who were held imprisoned while they were being in the interrogation room. On purpose, she know now, as an extra pair of warriors. Right now, they somehow were taking care of Johansson.

Then, there was a short knock on the outside door of the boatshed and her breathing changed for a just a millisecond.

Blake simply nodded and ordered "Tiago. See who it is. Take Antonio with you."  
He smirked and addressed Hetty. "Incredible. Your man understood exactly what we wanted. Or is there a possibility he did not?"

Again, he focused on his men, but he continued. "You already found out, miss Lange, what is going on?"

She just ignored his words, but meanwhile, she didn't really know what to expect either.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading!_


	21. Chapter 21

**Dots**

 **Chapter 21**

* * *

A/N Thanks again, all of you, for taking the time to read and leaving your review. I am aware the previous chapter ended rather abrupt. I wasn't too sure if that was the best place to stop, but it kinda happened.  
It's so good to have you around and letting me know your thoughts, Janice, Skippy, Linda, Mulderette, Guest, Wotumba and Blackbear!

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed**

Callen knew Eric was used to overhearing the agents of his team. Days of concentration on what was really important. Eric would manage to get the information which was really necessary to process and to decide which action should go with it. Either to advise Hetty or Granger, or him and the team.

It didn't surprise Callen to see two men he never saw before, meeting him at the door. Both armed and both ready for action.

"I'm here to see your… superiors," he said. He did not really know who to expect, gang members perhaps, but it would be more logical to see Martin Blake again.  
And he did.

"Well, well, agent Callen. Such a mess you've gotten your team in, don't you think?" Blake welcomed him, nearly huffing. His large posture leaned to the nearest pole in the boatshed, and he appeared to be in complete control.

"What do you mean, I got my team into trouble?"  
There was a smirk on his face, one which didn't feel genuine, but Blake would not know. Despite the fact he knew that he was smaller than Blake, with hardly any back-up, less strong and wounded right now, he still showed he could control the situation. Still, the remark came as an unwelcoming revelation. Callen remembered the words from what was it, weeks ago? _'We cannot allow your intervening, agent Callen'…  
_ Was it really **his** doing that the people he considered as his family, were being kept in here? For a few seconds, he hesitated. Seconds which might seem so short, but from right behind him, there was a severe kick in his lower back which made him stumble and fall. He groaned and figured it was quite naïve to ignore the group he was dealing with.

"You were to bring us that woman. That's the deal. But then you apparently failed to do so." The other man spoke. Gerald Keene, Callen understood.

He slowly got up and breathed in before he asked "Why?"

"Let's say she's got something we need. Blake found a way to find her and a way to get what we need." He shook his head and clicked his tongue several times as in unbelief. "Then you decided to poke your nose into our business."

Blake was scowling at the agent in charge. "I should have gotten rid of you when I had the possibility."

Callen smirked his way and responded: "But you didn't, since you were stopped."  
His reply wasn't too welcome and after some well-placed kicks and blows he could not defend himself from, he felt how the stitches on his body broke once again. Next to that, there would be a lot of bruises the other day.

"Now, miss Lange," Blake continued, a smirk on his face right now. "You go and call that man of yours and let him know we want that woman in here. Either she is here in only an hour from now, or we will visit her within the same period of time. And please do let her know, through your contacts, that with every minute later than we demand, one bullet will enter one of your people's body. We might start with your favorite agent in here."

It was a bit of a challenge for Callen to send the slightest shake of his head to Hetty, so that she and only she would notice. He swallowed sometimes, hoping Eric would understand he should not give away anything which would make Blake and Keene suspicious right now. "Please do as they say, Hetty. Let Eric know he's got an hour to get Macey in here."  
Eric would hear his words, Callen knew. Still, he added "So, I still don't understand why you didn't want me to lead you to miss Schwartz." He purposely used her agent's name and created the distance this way. For them. And for himself, perhaps.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Los Angeles Marina || Palawan Way**

"You do this every day?" Her nearly black eyes went over Eric's face. He was focused on what he heard, like she was too.  
Macey heard everything Callen said. There were mumbles from other people, which weren't really audible.

The younger man nodded with a careful shrug. "It's what we do."  
From his words, she understood that he was used to situations like this.

"Well… not in the field like we are now. I mean, I am the office guy, actually. But this is my job, mostly. Listening, analyzing what we hear and what we see and advising," Eric explained.

- _'what do you mean, I got my team into trouble?_ ' She heard Callen say. And she understood that it wasn't Callen's doing. She was to blame since it was all about her past. A past she didn't remember but which made her feel ill-fated.

"What do you think," she dared to ask this man she hardly knew. "How did they find me?"

Eric adjusted his glasses, glancing at the woman. "GPS. Blake knows every new material. The trackers he uses are miniscule. Actually, Callen used one of Blake's trackers when he posed as Thomas Roberts only some weeks ago."

Her breathing hitched. "Roberts?" She paused some seconds as she gathered her thoughts. "He is a dirty cop. Worked with ehm, I guess with Blake. But I guess you know that already."  
By the way he widened his eyes, Macey understood that Eric Beale and his agency had not heard this before.  
"Keene mentioned it when he let me read the files, when Vanderhilt and he visited me after I was recovering," she explained. She chewed the inside of her cheeks and continued in a softer voice "If Vanderhilt hadn't been around, I guess this all wouldn't have happened."  
The thought itself sickened her. She would not have been around, nor would these people she hardly knew, be endangered by this whole situation. She wondered how she'd ever face them again.

Before Eric could ask what she meant, there were more moans and groans reaching their ears. "This shouldn't happen, should it? What are they doing?"

"He's buying time. Callen did things like this before and I think it's insane. I bet he's just buying time so the back-up team can get closer… They're beating him up and he lets it happen."  
Eric shook his head with his own words and thoughts, but he didn't watch her reaction. He simply tried to estimate the time the back-up team would need to arrive and understood they'd be late. "Listen… I've got a couple of flashbangs. I could go in the wet way."

"Now what exactly does that mean?" Macey wanted to know. "You were talking about a hatch."

"That's right. I'd need to swim and dive for some minutes, but hey, it would be a great surprise and we could get to reach the team, hand them weapons. It would get them out. I'm sure."

"Would we be able to keep in touch? I mean, those bionic ears we're using, will they survive water?"

Eric shrugged. "We've never tried and I can't guarantee anything about the earwigs. But I've got a spare pair of them." He reached for the glove compartment, popped it open and took a blister which he held it up. "These will stay dry for sure. There will only be a short period we cannot communicate."

"But Callen isn't communicating either. I bet he doesn't even hear what we're saying."

Eric nodded this time and explained "He eliminated the function so he doesn't listen to our babble right now. Great thing is that all where hearing and sharing is being recorded at our systems. And sometimes when things get serious and you don't want to have anyone catching any unexpected sounds, you simply can pull those earwigs out. Perhaps he did too, I don't know. Although, we still can hear him."

It was at the same moment they both heard Callen talk.

 _-'Please do as they say, Hetty. Let Eric know he's got an hour to get Macey in here_.'

"What should we do now?" Eric nearly whispered.

She pouched her lips for half a minute, thinking. "Tell them you'll contact her and you will see to it she'll be there in twenty minutes."

"And you sure will be there," Eric now chuckled. But no way they'll expect you. Not as soon as we'll be around. And hey, the back-ups will have arrived by then as well. Let's do this!"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The phone call from the leader the tactical team came matters of minutes ago, immediately after Hetty's.  
And so Eric figured it was time by now. He checked the perimeters once again to see if there was anyone was around on the outside. All was quiet.

He got out of the car, just like Macey did, and he opened the trunk to get what he needed.  
The weapons Eric now carried were loosely sealed so they'd be protected by the salt ocean water for a few minutes. Macey only carried an older knife she found in his car, and a small hand weapon.

He told her he needed about five minutes to do what he had to do: swim, dive and open the hatch from beneath the ocean surface. He trusted that none of the intruders knew about this entrance, like Callen and he both assumed.  
By the time he would enter the boatshed in the unusual way, the team that Granger had arranged, should have arrived as well and like they discussed, Macey was going to guide them to the main entrance.

The minute they heard or saw the flash grenades, the back-up team should enter as well.

"I'm going to stab the tires of their cars. There will be no way anyone can escape by car that way," Macey mentioned.

All Eric was thinking was that he was admiring the way she anticipated what was to come, and he nodded. He took the package in his left hand and held up his right hand in a fist bump, which she answered rather uncertain.  
"Good luck Eric. Take care."

He smiled trying to encourage her or perhaps himself even more. Then he turned around and left for the best spot to enter the boatshed only minutes after.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed **

Callen leaned against the same table Hetty was sitting at, rubbing his sore back while he felt how his shirt stuck to his body with the warmth of what could only be blood. Silently, he cursed. His inward clock told him it would take at least ten more minutes until anyone would be ready to raid and overtake the intruders. He'd be one of the insiders who still was able to fight them, and until now he didn't have a clue how the team-members were doing. Only Hetty was close, but she wasn't communicating right now. Neither was he.

There was only one of them very close. One of the other men stood closer to the entrance, and Martin Blake, Gerald Keene and two other men were near the couch, only at a short distance, but he could not overhear their soft discussion.

He glanced at the tough little woman who sat close to him, and she shook her head just once.

Henrietta Lange had decided it would be mere suicide to her agent to come into action right now. She needed her team to stay safe.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

She fixed her hair in an easy ponytail once again and managed to knit the tiny gps tracker Eric showed her, in the small elastic hairband.  
It was her decision and hers only. It wouldn't matter what Eric or Callen or anyone else thought about it, although Macey Campbell was very certain they would not understand the next step she was taking.  
She took out the earwig she was wearing and hid it in the palm of her hand. Then, she closed her eyes for a brief moment. The sounds of shrieking seagulls were louder than the waves splashing against the piers and the yachts nearby.  
What mattered now was that she hoped to be prepared to what was to come. She breathed in several times, nodded only to herself and approached the boatshed.

Her knuckles rapped on the door twice, then she heard how someone came nearer and opened up.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Tbc,

Knirbenrots


	22. Chapter 22

**Dots**

 **Chapter 22**

* * *

Disclaimer: All the heroes in this storyline belong to the great imagination of Shane Brennan and his team of CBS, and I'm grateful to be able to use them in this story.

* * *

A/N How did I do that? Talking about Palawan Way, where I should've positioned the boatshed on Fiji Way. Anyway… Sorry for the delay. My laptop decided to quit and it took a while to find back the contents on the hard drive...  
#knirbenrots

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Perhaps it wasn't the decision Eric or Callen would expect, but it sure wasn't impulsive, Macey reasoned. Because, what if the rescue team would arrive and start shooting around? She reckoned she could tell them in time to be careful not to hurt Callen, the team and the peculiar and petite older boss of the team. But what if they didn't listen, or what if bullets would start flying around?  
And… what if they'd kill men like Keene and Blake…  
In that case, Macey Campbell had no idea if she'd ever find out what they wanted from her. Nor would anyone else.

She had carefully considered all options and when Eric mentioned that the information the earwigs caught was also shared on their computer systems — those special systems of the agency — she made a deliberate decision.

She could and should lure the two leaders away and get them to talk.

And above that, she could take care that the people of this special team she only just met a couple of days ago, were going to be safe.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed**

Callen hoisted himself up to a sitting position, his body hurting at more places than he imagined. He expected at least five more minutes of being beaten up, at least, that was what his inner clock told him.  
He didn't know how it worked, but he managed to keep his senses aware as his system eliminated the pain. The adrenaline did it, he knew. He understood he was weaker than he used to be since he knew he was bleeding once again from the wound in his abdomen where the bullet of Martin Blake had hit him. Not only in there. After some punches, the skin of his brow had torn and he had to blink several times continuously to keep his vision as clear as possible.

Like the others, he heard the soft knock on the door. It caught the attention of Blake, Keene and the man called Tiago as well. At least it stopped them from beating and punching around.

But it wasn't what they planned. Not at all.

Callen didn't expect to see Macey around, not yet, not all alone, and he didn't like it at all.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The younger woman looked nervous, yet self-assured as well. As if she had a plan and knew it wasn't a smart decision. As if she expected trouble but didn't know what would happen, or how and when.

Hetty Lange noticed it all in a matter of a second, and she didn't understand which deal Eric and agent Marcia Schwartz had made. There was no way to ask them either.

"Well, well, look who we have in here," Keene welcomed her. "How I've missed you around at the office, hun." His words sounded awfully insincere.  
Macey lowered her eyes and chin, which made her look even younger and more innocent. Which she wasn't, as far as Hetty had seen so far.  
"But until now, you never asked to see me," Macey responded in a soft voice. She addressed her former boss only, until now when she looked up to face the large man who'd come closer to her.  
That was when Hetty understood that the younger woman really had a plan and that she was determined to succeed. She was concerned at the least, since Hetty was all too familiar with this kind of stubbornness. But then, she grudgingly admitted she trusted whatever it was the former agent had in mind.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The only thing Macey wanted was to avoid making eye-contact with Callen. She knew all too well he would never understand what she was about to do, nor would he approve of it. She felt the gaze of the older woman too, yet she was scared to face her as she didn't know for sure whether or not Martin Blake would think it was a set-up and decided to hurt one of these people.

In her opinion, there was no time to loose. Eric Beale would soon be the one to come into action, and by that time she needed to have left this weird place already.

"What is it that you want from me?" She asked in the same soft voice. Perhaps it worked better that way; she didn't know.

"Cooperation."  
The short reply came from Keene. Blake simply grinned, slyly, and Macey took into account that he was really the dangerous one of these two men.  
Keene reconsidered his words, now grinning as well. "Although cooperation may be a hard thing to promise, if I were in your shoes."

Now it was Martin Blake who shook his head. "I suppose you'll be a good girl once you have decided it would help to keep your protectors in here safe."

Macey tilted her head slightly. It was what she considered already, but the way Blake mentioned it … well, she literally sensed there was deceit in every single word he used. Still, she just nodded and directed her gaze to her former handler. "You could have asked me earlier, Keene. Why wait? You should let them go, you know. They're federal agents."

There was a chuckle next to her. She kept her breath, now Martin Blake had moved closer. Close enough for her to make her moves quickly and close enough for a situation she didn't really know she could handle.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

From the parking of the Two Harbors Ferry, Eric smiled once again. Their plan would work, he was certain about it. He lifted the small bag and put it on his back like any ordinary rucksack. He took in the surroundings once again.

No black SUV's with the discrete blue led-lights coming near him yet. He sat down and dangled his feet in the cold water, once again estimating the right place to rise. Eric breathed in deep and slowly let the air escape. He repeated this twice before he finally slid into the water.

With the knowledge that the swim would take only one minute and a half, of which half a minute under water, he calmly moved his limbs in long strokes, counting those strokes until the last few when he'd have to dive.

It all went alright. Better than he'd envisioned. Better than he explained to this woman who was with Callen. Even now Eric Beale was concentrating on the next few minutes, he mused on the fact that Macey Campbell probably wasn't aware of all the things he knew about her. Details. Perhaps unnecessary details, but still.

He rose, knowing he was exactly beneath the boatshed. The mysterious older woman who became their handler found this place, so close to their secret office, and over the years, he found out about its most hidden corners.  
Eric sucked in the air his lungs needed and kept still for some seconds. There were no sounds from above him and he decided it was safe enough to get in.  
With his left hand, Eric Beale tested if the hatch to the second interrogation room was easy to be opened. It worked and he mumbled some grateful words to himself.  
Then, he opened the hatch as far as he dared. The first thing he put on a dry spot was the light bag with the weapons. Hoisting himself inside was a bigger challenge. He knew he had to do it without any suspicious noises. With his sopping wet clothes, it was nearly impossible to do so. For half a second, Eric kept still and listened to any noises or voices nearby, however, nothing stood out.

'Even better,' he mumbled. He peeled off his shirt an took off his boat shoes, leaving his shorts and tee on and unwrapped the material he took with him. Four flashbangs. In fact, he took two more than Callen had suggested. Just in case.

He clipped the Glock, his favorite weapon behind his back and checked both Sig Sauers of Sam and Kensi. Both were dry, loaded and locked. The same went for Deeks' Smith & Wesson and last, but certainly not least, the Glock which Nell preferred to work with. 'Mission completed this far.' He didn't know if he spoke aloud or if the thoughts just flashed through his mind.

Eric rolled his neck several times wanting to lose the tension he felt by now. Now, he had to carefully plan further — first things first.

From far away, he heard people talk. He concentrated. Not his people, as far as he could hear. He wondered if he could go from this place to the upper room where he figured the team ought to be. But he had to.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Callen didn't know if it was frustration he experienced, or if he was purely pissed with this situation. This was not what he expected, not what they'd discussed before.

She wasn't supposed to be in here, alone and without Eric and Callen had no idea if the tech operator was around as well.

He fixed his gaze on this woman who he thought he understood — her troubled story with the memory loss, the mystery he actually recognized and didn't mind. She wanted to look away, Callen knew. Still, he was experienced enough to try and read her body language.

Callen had the feeling she had a secret agenda. One he wanted to discuss with her, knowing it was impossible to do so.

Then, in a split second, her nearly black eyes locked on his and there was the slightest shake of her head.  
There was a very swift movement with her right hand, and immediately after, Martin Blake grappled her from behind in a chokehold. It was as if she expected it and she didn't even struggle.

Once Macey Campbell was down, Gerald Keene smiled politely at Hetty and Callen. "Thank you kindly for your cooperation. We can handle things from now on."

Still processing these words, a flash grenade caused an enormous blow with lots of smoke, and before Callen knew, these three persons had left the building.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading!_


	23. Chapter 23

**Dots**

 **Chapter 23**

* * *

As ever, thank you so much for leaving a review to the previous chapter, Wotumba, Linda, F4llon, skippy, Blackbear, Janice and Mulderette. Your comments are so welcome for someone who tries to use the spare time there is for writing. Or reading some of the great stories that go around in FanFiction.

* * *

 **The NCIS Boathouse**

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Eric heard the large wooden door slam shut seconds before the smoke dissipated. He'd kept his gun drawn while he bolted toward the stairs. Although he literally felt sick to the bone because of the tension that he did not know whom he might meet, Eric kept going. Simply because he needed the strength of the team behind him, next to him, or perhaps he actually preferred watching them work on a screen in front of him. And he did believe that the people he needed, were alive and right where he was heading to.

A shadow appeared in front of him, definitely someone who was alarmed by the bang.

He didn't recognize the silhouette like anyone of his team and without daring to wink his eyes, he raised his arm, aimed and took the shot. Exactly like he'd done at the shooting range so many times, practicing with Sam, Deeks and even with Callen. Only this time, it was real life. It was shoot or being shot, that was what he understood all too well.  
A man, in his early-forties, dark hair and a moustache, tumbled down the stairs past him. Eric swallowed several times and he felt even more sick by now. He hardly dared to watch and he had to swallow back the bile which crept up so soon.  
This was the first time ever he shot at a real human being. Someone he didn't know and who appeared to be dead. Someone with parents, perhaps with a wife or even worse, married with kids.  
'No', Eric said to himself. He shouldn't think like this. It was someone who was willing to kill him, without actually caring if Eric had anyone around who would mourn about him being killed either. Ruthless.

With his left foot, he kicked away the weapon of the other man. He didn't have the guts to go and check if this man was dead or still alive.

He kept going. Only a few more feet to the place he expected the team would be. Eric stopped and let the breath escape which, he noticed, he'd kept doing all the time.

Then, he finally had the guts to open the door.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Upstairs**

Deeks and Nell both sat squatted in one of the closest corners next to the door. They were tending to the still bleeding wounds of the guard, Walt Johansson. The man's face was ashen by now, which meant he was in great pain and his wounds were probably more serious than they were able to treat in here.

The bang reached this room as well and so did the smoke. And they knew a person who could do magic with flash bangs, and they sure hoped it was who they hoped it would be – Eric. But then there was this shot and the loud thud of something heavy falling. Someone, in fact…

With Sam and Kensi posted next to door, ready to take the one who was coming next to room. Or to welcome the person.

The enormous hands of Sam Hanna clasped the shoulders of their technical operator. It made Eric drop his gun and he was unable to keep his cry of shock.  
"Djeez!" he finally gasped. "You should've warned, Sam."

"You could've got yourself killed," Sam retorted. "But crap, Beale, you don't know how glad I am to see you!"

Eric tipped his head to the side. "Likewise." Then he simply grinned and continued "Time to go, I'd say."  
He took the bag and started to hand out the weapons he'd taken with him. "How many did you count, actually?"

"Seven, man," Deeks replied. He was kind of flabbergasted about the analyst who hardly ever was able to struggle through any real-life situations. "How did you lose them?"

Kensi desperately wanted to ignore the shake of the head of Eric. She could only confirm. "Seven. Five who busted in after they got passed Johansson in here. And there were the—"  
She stopped talking and pushed Eric aside as she fired a few shots to an unknown person behind him.  
She breathed out aloud and corrected herself. "Six left."

Eric shook his head. "Five," he nearly whispered now. He rubbed his hands through his hair and pushed up his glasses twice before he continued gathering his thoughts. "I think I… well. I shot a man and he fell. He won't bother us anymore. So, there's five left then."

Sam patted the younger man's shoulder as he understood this was a first time experience which would haunt the tech for a certain period.  
The former Seal then nodded carefully, checked his weapon twice and studied the serious faces of the team members now. "Right. Nell, you and Eric stay in here and keep an eye on Johansson. Keep the pressure on the cloth, and keep trying to keep him awake."  
He addressed the field agents now. "You heard Eric. There should be five of them around, and there's five of us. Plus Hetty, but she's still in jeopardy I suppose."

Eric piped in once again. "And Callen. He's in here too. It was his plan. And actually…" his voice was secretly low now. "Actually, there should already be a back-up team in here with Macey as well. But I haven't heard them. You?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Downstairs**

The man called Tiago was still coughing and his eyes were tearing because of the smoke from the flashbang. Callen knew he could overwhelm the man easily. Even though he was wounded and not in the best shape, the adrenaline kept him sharp enough. What kept him from attacking the man was the fact that the other man who was supposed to keep an eye on him, was also keeping a gun pointed against Hetty's head.

Callen still felt the anger raging through his body. Anger, because the woman he thought he could trust decided to go against his orders and go her own way. Anger, because he didn't see this coming. And even though he didn't control the situation, he also noted that now Martin Blake and Gerald Keene had left with former agent Marcia Schwartz, and the chances for the team had rapidly changed as well.

And was angry because he wasn't controlling the situation. He'd heard a shot from inside the building, and minutes later another one, and he didn't know who was shooting who.

The only thing he was sure about was the fact that Eric was inside the building, hence the grenade. He sure hoped the young analyst slash wanna-be field agent was alright.

Callen decided to stay put for the next few minutes.

After all, he wasn't too sure how many men he and the team members would be facing. He'd counted too and he saw how Keene and Blake had left the building with Macey. Although he didn't see anyone around the boathouse when he and Eric had observed the place, he expected there had to be an escape car parked nearby.

He heaved a deep sigh, not knowing what to do right now. He caught Hetty's gaze once again and much to his surprise she sent him an encouraging smile, as if she'd seen something he missed. He relaxed a bit, but was still not sure if he was in the right condition to fight those two men.

Only a brief moment later, Callen understood he didn't have to.

He didn't know how fast it happened, but it did. He observed how Hetty lowered herself in the chair which was actually only inches too high for her. In about the same second he heard the wheezing sound of another shot and a bullet hit the man who kept his gun aimed at the tiny lady.

Callen got on his feet in a matter of milliseconds and his fist hit the guy who was nearest to him. The man went down like a log, and he nearly did the same as he'd forgotten about being hurt in this exact hand as well. He groaned out loud and sank back on his knees.

There were multiple shots from different places in the boathouse, then all was quiet until the all too recognizable, heavy steps came near.  
"G, you're okay?" The dark and worried voice of his friend and partner sounded.  
The fear of his partner being shot once again sure would trouble the other man, so Callen simply replied "Yeah. I'm good."

It would take weeks and weeks before his right hand would have healed properly. For the time being Hetty was probably right — the only thing he was able to do was some paper work at the office. Not his cup of tea.

"Your partner is not as alright as he mentions, Mr. Hanna. Actually, I suggest Mr. Callen in here should see an paramedic and be taken home afterwards—"  
He got back on his feet, slowly and unevenly and of course he interrupted at the same time. "Don't think so, Hetty, and please stop mothering me. I'm gonna be alright."

He clenched his jaw, desperately wishing the pain in his hand would disappear soon. He could handle the rest. Bleeding, because the stitches broke again on the other wound. Bleeding from his brow as well, and he was pretty sure some ribs were bruised or perhaps even broken.

He could handle it. He had to, since he had to be around and get this case finished.

Which had to be to hear why Macey did what she did. Tell him, and perhaps he'd feel less betrayed by her.

Callen managed a broad smile on his face when he saw Eric peeking from the room upstairs and smiled even more when he saw the thumbs-up from the other man.  
They all knew, Eric himself, that he'd be better off in the office, since his outstanding work had saved the team many times. But it wasn't the first time either that Eric had done magnificent things out in the field, and it was great knowing he depended on the tech with a reason.

"Marvelous job, Eric," Callen mentioned and he meant it.

There was a nod from the other man, showing the appreciation for those words. Eric then looked around and simply asked "Macey?"

"First things first, ladies and gentlemen," Hetty now said. She had observed her special agent in charge and understood, as ever, how he might feel right now. She wanted to share her observations with him and him alone, but she needed the team together as well, with each person at the right position. "Like I stated before, some of the people in here need medical assistance. Since we're missing Miss Jones in here I suppose she's still taking care for poor Mr. Johansson. So, Mr. Deeks, how about there's you calling in for an ambulance."

"Hetty…", Callen tried again, nearly bluntly now. "They're ahead by now and you know it."

There it was again, that encouraging smile she seemed to share with him a lot lately. "They are, Mr. Callen." She then addressed Eric "Mr. Beale. I'd like you to get your gear from the car you arrived with." Hetty ordered everyone around, leaving Callen and her alone in the interrogation room where he followed her to.

"Do you trust the woman, Mr. Callen?"

He paced around, knowing it was better to hide his aches and worries for the older woman. "Why ask, Hetty. You saw what happened. We need to find them."

"It's not what I asked." Her voice was softer now.

His eyes, bluer now in the artificial light, were too hard in her opinion. She stared at him for what felt like a couple of hours until finally, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He leaned against the wall, exhausted by now although he didn't want her to notice. "Guess so. I mean, I do think I trust her."

"You don't think, Mr. Callen. It's either a yes or a no."

"Got it!" Eric came rushing in the room, not worrying about interrupting any conversation at all. He kept his tablet computer in his left hand and the smallest of sealable wrapping in the other hand. He started chattering now. "The deal was she'd destroy the tires of the cars. She did it. Dunno what happened next."

Hetty now calmly asked the analyst to check his systems for the GPS which was registered on the small package. "You'd better check on this one. Like you obviously forgot the system would pick up whatever the earwigs pick up".  
She smiled again, and explained what she saw what happened.

* * *

 _Thank you all for reading._

 _Knirbenrots_


	24. Chapter 24

**Dots**

 **Chapter 24**

* * *

To all of you, thank you so much for your reviews and input!

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Unknown location**

It wasn't the chilly April air alone that scared her when she woke up. There was soft and nearly indistinct movement and splatter, which meant Macey was back in a nightmare which had haunted her so many times. Except for the fact that she was awake at this moment, which was bad. She slowly opened her eyes and realized she wasn't back in her nightmare, but in a boat, which moved over the water right now.  
She desperately was organizing her thoughts. It meant that whatever she planned took another turn than she'd hoped for.  
No escape car, like she knew there would be none left since she'd taken care of them. No back-up team around either — not yet.  
Last thing she knew for sure which had happened, was that she had put the earwig and a GPS tracker in the pocket of Blake's jacket, like a sorcerer, only seconds before she let him eliminate her for the time being and she got out.

They said they needed her to cooperate, and she didn't have a clue with what or why. Macey Campbell knew she kept Callen safe, so he could stay with his team. After all, Blake hated Callen, wanted to get rid of him. With him lured away, that danger was gone.

And she knew that she had to face facts now, since she got in this deliberately. Still, she was scared to see what would happen next. Whatever it was, Macey understood that she needed to do what Callen had done before: buy time, until somebody else's plan B would work.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS Boatshed, Los Angeles Marina**

He noticed how he'd interrupted, and Eric nodded. "You're right, Hetty. There's two missing." He referred to the GPS trackers.

"Are you able to follow those? Both of them, I mean?" Sam wanted to know.

The technical operator nodded once again. "From the office, we can do that. Keep a tab on them, I mean. The same goes for recording what's been transferred through the earwig, even when it's impossible to listen to it."  
He now reddened slightly. "Actually… actually, it was me who told her that our systems can do that. I mean… It was because all of a sudden we lost contact with Callen, and I told her how things work." He pushed up his glasses once again as he shook his head. "Shouldn't have done that, should I?"

"Now, now, Mr. Beale. There's no reason why you should not have done so. There was a plan you made, the three of you, you, Mr. Callen and Miss Schwartz. Or, if you prefer, Miss Campbell. And this plan worked, more or less. Yet, Mr. Callen put himself in a difficult position. I am very sure Miss Schwartz decided to change the plan as well," Hetty calmly reasoned. "So," she continued, "So, we should trust on her intuition as well."

Callen slightly pouted in a way only he could and asked "Should we?"

Again, Hetty stared into his clear, but hard, eyes. She literally sensed he was trying to brace himself, in case he'd meet with another letdown with someone he thought he could trust. There had been the betrayal of Joelle, something he never saw coming and neither did anyone else. There had been trouble with his own father, a situation which bothered the experienced agent too, though he never expressed those feelings with her. But from Sam, Hetty understood that Callen hadn't been in any contact with Anna Kolcheck either, not even during the short period he'd been hospitalized. No wonder he wasn't in the mood to trust anyone beyond his own team for the full one hundred percent.  
She nodded on his words and she hoped she'd been able to send him some confidence without the words she knew he would not appreciate coming from her.  
"We sure should, Mr. Callen. There is a plan in here. Perhaps not the one you envisioned, but it was her plan B, and hers only."

"Oh, I know. And I would want to work with it, but —"

"You know you can't stand this, G." Sam calmly interrupted. "Simply because it is not what you came up with, it doesn't mean it's a bad plan. Thing is, the longer we stay in here discussing this, the less time there is for a quick checkup of you by one of the paramedics, and the more time we loose and Blake and Keene are ahead of us."  
He noticed that his partner would need more than a quick medical check, but that it would be useless to force him to stay away from the action. Callen simply needed to be around with whatever outcome during the next few hours from now.

Hetty understood it as well. She clapped her hands and exclaimed "So now, I suppose it is a 'yes, I will work according to this plan'. So, shoo, now, gentlemen."  
She watched how the agent in charge meekly followed his partner, who she knew would convince his partner to make the right decisions.  
Then she turned to Deeks and Kensi, she said "You think you got them all?"

The junior agents glanced at each other, and Kensi put her hands on her hips as she responded with a shake of her head "We're missing one, Hetty. Oscar Almeida, Mercedes' man, who was in our interrogation room, remember? He's not around. We suspect he went with Keene and Blake. Must have sneaked out when you were here."

The petite operational manager shook her head only once. "No. Nobody went past here." She paused only for a brief second and understood. "The boat doors. He must've gone and left through the boat doors."  
Hetty knitted her brows. "It means, Mr. Beale, that there's no car you can follow, but a boat. One of any size, fast of slow. And one which may still be around or one which is difficult to follow or find."

"Nonsense," Eric mentioned. "The trackers can be followed and pinpointed as well. Thing is, there's no traffic cams and Kaleidoscope won't be any use. But we do know about the GPS. Which is, like Callen just mentioned, probably far ahead by now."  
He addressed his handler even more direct. "Let me join Sam and Callen, please, Hetty. Nell can lead us from the office."

Her gorgon stare frightened Eric for a few seconds, but then there was a short but barking laugh of the older woman. She still shook her head. "Oh, now, now, dear Mr. Beale. I'm not too sure whether or not you can handle that."

He blushed. "I… Sam wouldn't be with Callen right now if I hadn't handled the situation earlier on, would he? There was no back-up, but here we are. And with Callen being currently out of action, physically I mean, Sam could use another hand."

There was a deep sigh after she carefully studied the only agent of her team which she'd kept away from the real field work so far. Still, during those rare situation he had managed to make a certain difference which got cases closed or witnesses talk. She now carefully pursed her lips and slowly nodded.  
"Miss Jones?" She now called. Now the place was crowded with a uniformed team and a medical crew, the intelligence analyst should be around somewhere.

"Yes, Hetty, over here." The red-haired young woman came their way from the small bathroom and was still brushing her hands with a washcloth.

"There you are, dear. Why, you and I should head to the office now, and see how we can back up our team members from in there."

With a self-assured smile she nodded. Then she paused a beat and repeated "You and I? How about Eric too?"

"Mr. Beale in here is joining agents Hanna and Callen. I suggest you will manage and lead them from within the computer systems to where they have to be".

"Of course I can. I just… Wow, Beale. You go and get'em!"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Sam drove the large SUV in the direction Eric had decided they should go to. Eric was seated in the back. He wasn't sure — with Sam's mad way of driving now — if there was any possibility to really work on his tablet computer on his lap and his phone in his hand. It was the first time ever he could really experience how the two senior partners were used to work together. Well, at least it was a how he REALLY experienced it, since he'd heard them work for the past couple of years.

He chose not to interfere, just to try and stay concentrated. Next to that, Eric Beale certainly hoped his usual partner would contact them very soon.

"Anything you wanna share, Beale?" With his question, Sam gazed at the younger man in the backseat.

"No. Yes. Lincoln Boulevard, south," he corrected his first reply. "Avoid LAX".

"How about Sepulveda Boulevard, including LAX?" Sam wanted to know, already anticipating.

"How about it?" Eric asked.

"Don't ask, just drive. If those GPS are going south, you keep heading south, see if you can follow the coastline as close as you can," Callen suggested.  
His voice sounded like he felt: tired.  
Sam glanced at his partner, but swallowed the words he felt were coming up. He knew all too well that Callen would hate to hear this. Still, he wondered how long his partner was going to be able to go on like this. There had been a short medical examination, and Sam had observed how his partner practically escaped the paramedic after only adding some fresh bandages.

"It's got you pretty worked up, right?" Sam understood.

Callen shrugged, kept his expression as cool as possible. "What are you talking about, buddy?"

There was one of the typical Sam chuckles. "You're so used to use your head, G. To trust your gut. Is there any reason why you appear to have trouble with it now?"

There was a deep sigh and some uncomfortable squirming on the passenger-chair. Sam shot a quick glare. There was no use to prod any longer since he noticed his partner was not only in bad mood but also in a bad shape.

The three men were silent for a few minutes and for Sam, the incoming call from the office was welcome.  
"What've you got, Nell?"

Her voice sounded as clear and professional as ever. "Got the signals, both of them."

"Meaning?"

"Don't know. With Hetty's observation, I'd say one is stuck with Martin Blake."

Eric now added "She's got the other one. Macey, I'm talking about. She must have got it."

A short confirming hum came from the other side. "May be so. But listen, Kensi and Deeks are coming your way too."

"How?"

"They're taking the four-o-five. Usually slower, but there's not too much traffic at the moment. You may be slower right now, but closer to where I figure the boat is, Callen," Nell said.

"Will you keep me posted, Nell?" Eric asked. "Because our system in here is even fslower than the traffic."

With a short giggle Nell affirmed. "Will lead you from here."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS main office**

From behind her screens at Ops, Nell followed the four dots. For a moment, there wasn't anything to share.

"What is it, Hetty, that you think these men want from this woman Macey?" she asked as she turned to the other woman.

There was an unusual pause before Hetty responded. "Well, despite the fact we have no prove whatsoever, I assume Miss Campbell has witnessed something which her former boss wasn't too fond of, so to say."

Nell nodded "I get that, but then there's Martin Blake. He's CIA. She is… suspicious about the CIA. You told me, I've noticed and read about it. And we've seen Blake and Keene working together. Still… We don't know, do we?"

"No dear, we don't. So we have to trust we will find out soon. Very soon, Miss Jones."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

"Ah, your agent is awake and with us, Gerald."

Blake's voice was creepy and insincere, but Macey would not complain about it. Instead, she looked around and breathed in deep. Ocean. She wasn't too familiar with the lay-out of the city, but she knew where they started and with the city on her left, it was easy to conclude they were heading south. But where to was a question she couldn't answer.

Gerald Keene sat next to a man she hadn't met before and who handled the steer of the open boat they were on.  
Macey Campbell was pretty sure that with the tiny GPS trackers, the technical analyst, Eric, would be able to trace her, and trace Martin Blake as well. She really distrusted Gerald Keene, but had a gut feel that Blake was even worse and behind the planning of… well, of all of this.

Keene looked around, a smile on his face. "Great. We're nearly at the harbor." He pointed ahead. "Y'see? The King Harbor Marina."

"Oscar's got a car in there?"

Now the other man glances over his shoulder. "We have." His left hand disappeared in the pocket of his jeans and came out with a car key dangling on his index fnger. "Plain grey Hyundai."

"Perfect," Blake commented. "Just perfect."

The skipper now concentrated and maneuvered the boat around the large pier filled with rocks. Moments later, he nodded slowly. "This should do."

"Now you listen, Marcia," Keene started. "Blake in here asked for your cooperation. It means we expect you to leave this boat without any obvious struggle. Actually, you've got two choices. Either you keep quiet and behave, and in that case, no problem, we make you come with us. If anything unexpected happens, you start shouting or fighting or whatever, our deal ends in here."

She tilted her head slightly. "Deal?"

"That's right. The deal you would cooperate." Keene shrugged matter-of-factly. "I suggest you just behave." He now smiled, nearly apologizing. "Blake and I have guns, you know. And our partner in here prefers knives."

It caused some sort of chuckle from Blake, one she certainly did not trust at all.  
She wet her now dry and salty lips and softly agreed. "Sounds clear to me."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _knirbenrots_


	25. Chapter 25

**Dots**

 _ **Chapter 25**_

* * *

 _Thank you, Skippy, Mulderette, JaniceS, LindaWiggington, wotumba, F4llon, Blackbear53, for leaving your reviews. As ever, your kind words are very welcome! Now, this story is nearly coming to an end, there won't be another 25 chapters coming up! Will keep you posted..._

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Macey agreed, but she still didn't have a clue to what it was exactly. She agreed, simply because she needed to delay her group. She was pretty sure the NCIS team was able to follow, but it was impossible to find out how close they'd be. So, she nodded again, but did not comment. Not yet.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS main office || Ops center**

Her red hair swirled around her head. "It's still so faint. There's too much noise." She now looked up at the other small woman, who had taken a seat on the chair next to hers. "It's because of the wind, the motor, and probably also because there's a lot of cloth between the transmitter and his voice. I really can't make too much of it right now."  
She reached forward to insert another plug in the computer and explained "Perhaps the computer can descript better like this. Though we'd have to wait and see, of course."

"Oh, but I see, Miss Jones. I fully understand you need to do this. Now you keep concentrating on those dots on your screen, dear girl. Keep watching. Keep informing your co-workers too. No need to tell you I demand to receive the same information, of course."  
The senior woman pursed her lips, rose from the desk-chair and was about to open the sliding doors of the Ops center. She decided to take her own laptop once again and re-study whatever it was she could find. Perhaps there was more in the files than she had thought of before.

"Hetty?" Nell asked, her voice now small. "We are sure about this Macey's actions, aren't we? I mean… what if…" She didn't really finish her sentence, but bit her lower lip only shortly.

Hetty pressed the small button next to the small desk which was placed close to it. She turned to her youngest team member and paused a beat before she answered. "Well, Miss Jones. I happen to have spent only a few short hours with her. And I tend to call myself quite a good judge of character. From what I have seen, I do trust her. And that isn't the only thing I have witnessed, because I saw how Mr. Callen reacted to her as well. So, I would say there are no doubts at all."

Nell nodded, and felt uncomfortable now the legendary handler stared at her only a second too long, in her opinion.  
"I can practically read the question mark on your lovely face, Miss Jones. Please, no hesitations. Feel free to express your thoughts, whatever they may be."

The blush crept from her neck all the way up, and she felt it but Nell didn't mind any longer. "Well, we've been wrong before. With… well, you know… Joelle and how she managed to hide her real intentions? Not only with Callen. She fooled us all. Like Tracy Kelly fooled him before. And you know, I… well, I don't want to think of how… what it would do to, to him."

It was only three big steps from the doors to where the young analyst stood, and the petite operations manager rested her small hand on the forearm of the other woman. "Thank you, Miss Jones. It warms me to see how you care for all your team members. Rest assured I will watch agent Schwartz' steps carefully as well."

"Agent Schwartz or Macey Campbell?" Nell now dared to ask. She watched how her boss now nodded several times as she pondered over her reply.  
"Macey Campbell. I sincerely believe she is Miss Campbell right now. Deep down, there's a bit, or perhaps enough, left of the former agent. She's keen enough, though. Now, we do have to hope there's enough left of the skills and the training she had, don't we?"  
With those words, Hetty turned and slowly went down the stairs, sat down behind her antique desk and gazed at the empty bullpen at her right for a while. Then, she bent down and took a set of paper files from the drawer of her desk. She poured herself a cup of tea, heaved a sigh and started re-reading.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Heading South**

"G?"  
The three of them had been silent for the past couple of minutes, and Sam glanced at his partner next to him. Callen gazed through the side window, staring at nothing but the blur of the city passing by. He didn't really feel like talking, but he knew how his partner could insist.  
"I'm fine. All you need to do is to floor it. Got the feeling we're hours behind."

"We left only a quarter of an hour after them," Eric interrupted, taking the remark of Callen very literally. "And Nell has got this map."  
He extended his arm to show the senior agents the map Nell had put online. "You see, those dots—"  
Callen interrupted "I get it, Eric." His words came out rather harsh and Sam now felt the urge to soften them. "Thanks, Eric. Looks like we are still far behind indeed. Tell us again, what was it the two of you discussed?"

"Ehm… Well, about how we can tape discussions, and how we have used them as evidence in several cases. So, she is aware that we can pick up the sounds and how it works, and she knows about the GPS."

"She's an agent, for crying out loud. Of course she understands."

Again, Sam sighed deeply. "G… who did you meet, agent Marcia Schwartz, or Macey Campbell, the writer?"

Callen paused a few seconds, lifted his shoulders and dropped them. With this action, he softly moaned as the theatre of the action hurt more than he'd expected. "Well… you weren't around. She's been serving, Sam, Army in Iraq. Saw terrible things, was in bad situations. How's that for the PTSD? She knows the things she went through, though she still doesn't remember a thing. But I saw how she reacted to reading files, watching pictures. No matter if someone says she's blocking memories or really lost them, things shouldn't be that damned difficult for someone, for her, well... You know?"

Sam hummed. "You're mad, buddy, and I get that. Things like this happen. They happen everywhere and to everyone, to you, to us. Difference is we can look back, evaluate, talk, debrief. Besides, we have each other. We're about each other's memory too, if necessary."

He was glad to see the quick smirk on his partner's face, but also noticed it faded soon after.  
"I hate it, actually, that she went lone wolf. Why? She could have waited, like we agreed. So, why?"

Again, a reply came from the backseat. "She's not working for them, or plainly for them. She knows about the deceit from her own boss from that time, Keene. And she knows that they want something from her. But you and I, and she, none of us know what it is. So… no better way to find out but to cooperate and try and share this intel. And she knows we're following her, just like she probably expects us to intervene at the right moment."

The men in the front kept silent for a few more seconds, then Sam hit the pedal even more.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Redondo Beach parking**

Macey inhaled deeply and finally dared to ask "Where are we going to?"

It was Keene who answered "Heading South. We've been there before, remember?" He snorted with his own choice of words. "Although, no, of course you will probably not remember, do you?"

She repeated his words "South? Long Beach? San Diego?"  
It was easy enough to learn it was Long Beach, as it was easy enough to read Keene's eyes. "So, Long Beach. Why?" she now asked.

Keene opened his mouth once again to answer, but it was Martin Blake who was the first to hiss a warning. In a loud and angry voice he addressed her. "My god. You're wired. You're asking all kind of questions because you know you're being overheard."  
She shook her head, looked up as she tried not to show the sudden fear she felt. "I'm not."  
There was something, just the faintest something, that she felt like a déjà vu. There was the flash of a knife to which she closed her eyes. Her breathing hitched and she started trembling. Would this be it?

A little louder, Gerald Keene intervened. "Wait, Martin. It's too soon to…"

"Don't be such a pussy, Gerald," Blake responded. His eyes spat fire, especially since he did not find what he expected. "I know just as well as you do that we need her alive." He'd used his knife to cut through the cotton of her knitted cardigan and the shirt she wore underneath it.  
Like him, she watched how the white of the shirt turned red and an equally dark spot appeared on the blue of the cardigan.  
She swallowed away the panic, the fear and the burn of the skin which the knife touched, and her eyes were teary now. "I'm… I told you. I'm not wired."

"Dammit. Oscar!" Blake now shouted. "Get me some duct tape and help me to shut this one down."  
To his other partner, he snarled "Listen, Gerald. I don't know who you're trusting better, her or me. For all I know, your goal and mine is to get what we need, get it out and get it all over with. Don't you think I know we need this… this bitch? Hell, I do. We need her, at least—" he glanced at his watch and checked the surroundings as if to compute something very fast. He then continued, his voice lower now "I'm damn well aware we need her for the next hour. And whatever it is, I'm not gonna talk to her and I'm not giving her another chance to try and control any conversation, mood or moves."  
He shot her another angry look and ordered "Tie her up."

The three men were stronger, much stronger than she was. Despite her short struggle, Martin Blake, rudely pressed a short strip of tape he'd pulled off, over her mouth. "This will shut you up."

Macey desperately shook her head in an attempt to get rid of it, but it was without success. Her hands were pulled behind her back and swiftly tied together, and she was not in a position to fight the men when the tape was used to tie her ankles after that.  
"Throw her in the back of the car."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects**

She rushed down the staircase, the tablet computer pressed closely to her body. "Hetty?" Her voice sounded urging yet small at the same time. "I've got… You've got… Please, could you listen?"

All the orders Martin Blake had yelled to the others, all the things he'd shouted or hissed, were precisely recorded and sounded the same, even the third time Nell had listened to the recording.  
"They're still nearly a quarter of an hour behind, Hetty. And I—"

The older woman simply raised her right arm and hand, which made Nell stop rattling. "Please, young lady. We need you to calm down, now, don't we?"  
On the short and puzzled nod of the young information analyst, Hetty took the hand-held computer and pressed the replay button. After she'd listened to what was recorded, she gazed at the papers in front of her. With her left hand rubbing her neck and her expression as unreadable as in several difficult situations, the seasoned handler slowly said "Tell agent Blye and detective Deeks there will be a back-up team joining them, soon. Be very clear now, and explain there will be no action whatsoever allowed until I decide differently."

The puzzled look on the younger woman's face never left and she now knitted her brows. "Anything about where they're headed to?"

There was a careful nod, again, as Henrietta Lange explained her thoughts. They should head to Windsor Way."

It didn't mean a thing to the younger woman. "The harbor district?"

"Yes, dear. To be more exactly, I suggest they will post around the cruise terminal in there. I've got quite a certain feeling that this is where they are all heading to."

"And you have got this feeling, or know this, because…?" Nell asked, curious now because she got the feeling she missed something.

"It is because of this. Pete Jones." Hetty told. She now opened the paper files on her desk, turned them so Nell could read the information. All the information of Now, Nell lifted her brows again. "You think that… this has got something to do with it?"

The paler blue eyes behind the glasses went over the younger face in front of her. "I am, Miss Jones. I am. Actually, this is what I call a gut feeling. I fear that this is going way back to the case which concerned the moment agent Schwartz' partner was found killed, close, very close to this same cruise terminal of Windsor Way, and the same night in which Miss Schwartz lost her memory and was badly hurt."

Nell shook her head. "I don't get it, yet, but I've got the feeling there will be a moment you will explain all of this to me, soon. For now, what about Callen and Sam, and Eric?" she asked, pragmatically as ever.

Hetty now turned the tablet computer on her desk and pointed at the first bright red dot which moved southwards quickly. "I will call them, Miss Jones. They're on the right way as well. But they need to stay close to these dots. Very close."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Near Redondo Beach || Highway 1**

There was a kind of weariness in his behavior and in Callen's voice that Sam did not recognize. He glanced at the man next to him. "What did she want?"

Callen uttered something that sounded like a deep grunt and said "Telling me to keep tailing the car as best as we can without being noticed. And she actually ordered not to interfere anything, yet."  
He stretched and sat slumped after, his mind drifting to how this chase was going. Not how he'd expected. Had it been only hours ago when he'd tried to relax in a safe house, enjoying a cup of hot coffee and curious about his companion? This roller-coaster of the past few days, weeks seemed to go fast-forward, but not in a way he'd envisioned.

"See it you can switch to the one-o-seven, Sam," Eric instructed, and Sam gratefully smiled at him in the rear view mirror. "Copy that," he said. "Any indication about—"

"Eleven minutes now, Sam," the Tech said.

* * *

 _Thank you all for reading!_  
 _Knirbenrots_


	26. Chapter 26

**Dots**

 **Chapter 26**

* * *

Disclaimer: all the original characters belong to CBS and Shane Brennan. I just used them for this storyline. As for all the other names and characters - they're all made up and are never meant to resemble any persons - dead or alive. If you do recognize any names, it is purely coincidental!

Kni®benrots

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As ever, I love the fact that you left your reviews once again, Wotumba, JaniceS, Linda Wigington, Mulderette, F4llon, Karine, and welcome as a reader, countrygirluk56

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Torrence Boulevard**

"We should have done this years ago," Gerald Keene uttered his thoughts from the backseat of the grey Hyundai.

"Tell me something I didn't know, Gerald. She worked for you. It's not 'we' who should have done this. You should have worked more careful. You had the means, even when she was hospitalized in those first few days. Could have asked Oscar in here, after all he was eager to take revenge," Martin Blake said. "It was his brother Miguel who was killed in the action where she should've been killed."

The driver looked sideward and around and mentioned to both the other men. "Still am eager. Leave it all up to me, when the time comes."

"Sure, Oscar," Keene replied. "And sure, Martin. I would have tried, but there were nurses, guards — MY guards, for heaven's sake — there was LAPD… There were so many people around, all the time. Too many. And even though I arranged a special place in a safe house I chose for her, she refused. She didn't want to talk to me, and there were no moments we were together. And then she disappeared. Just disappeared, dammit. Y'see, I told you, Martin, she seems to have some kind of sixth sense for moments like this."  
He paused a few seconds. "It's a shitty shame this security system is new and the best there is and they weren't fooled by the foil we've tried before."

There was another short huff from his partner in crime. "You could have asked me. You know I can get hands on the best material my agency came up with. And well, this plan — I would have thought of a plan like this two years ago."

"She don't trust anyone. Not even me, though she forgot who I am, with this memory loss."

"Not trusting? Now way, not true. How come she worked with those NCIS guys?"

Keene sighed deeply and shook his head. "Coincidence. Just two lines crossing. Working together for the time being. Plain and simple luck, I'd call it, that she was protected."

"And why do you think I checked for her being wired? Damn. NCIS got some of my newest material. I don't know whether or not it was used in her shirt or shoes or whatever—"

"We still could check it all," Oscar Almeida suggested.

"Not now. Not anymore. We need to hurry, it's just that I got this feeling she found a way to… well, just hurry." Martin Blake responded.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects**

Moments like these were the hardest in her career, Henrietta Lange reckoned. Listening to everything these men shared, made her wonder if éver there was a good outcome in this case.  
In one way or another she felt all too well that some things were happening that simply had to happen. Things, situations like these she wished she could avoid.

She put off her glasses and carefully put them on her desk before she rubbed her tired eyes. Then, she heaved a deep sigh, took her glasses up and cleaned them with a crisp white handkerchief she took from one of the drawers of her desk. Meanwhile, she shook her head several times.  
No, she didn't like it at all where this was going to.  
Yet, there was no way in stopping this now, without knowing what the outcome would be, but she had a very, very bad feeling about it. One she could not share at this very moment.

And still, she listened to everything those men shared.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Hawthorne Boulevard || 107**

"Anything else she was sharing with you?" Sam wanted to know. Or well, he actually asked simply because it would be better to kill time when sharing one's thoughts instead. Besides, he had to keep his partner sharp, but not on the edge.

There was a soft hum. "She asked Kensi and Deeks to head to Windsor Way, the cruise terminal. But she didn't tell me why."

"We'll go and find out, right?" Eric piped in once again. "You bet we know within the hour what this is all about."

Callen looked around, quite annoyed. "You got any idea what can happen in an hour, do you, Eric? You ought to know better than that."

This time Eric reddened and started stammering. "Ehm, well.. sure. I get it, Callen. I meant… well, you know I don't mean bad. We'll be in time, won't we?"

"We will try, Eric. We'll just have to do our utmost," Sam suggested. "So, why the Cruise Terminal? Anything she told you, G, or something you found in the files the two of you went through?"

Another short hum came from his partner. "There hardly was any time to study those. Perhaps Eric knows more."

The tech shook his head, while his fingers went over the keys of his tablet. Several screens opened and he kept reading and query, despite the fact Sam smoothly steered the car from one lane to another, and another, then decided the first lane definitely was the fastest.  
With Eric quiet in the backseat, Callen turned around and asked "Eric?

"Nothing that stands out, Callen. Not yet. Although…" He studied the information on his screen. As ever, he managed to summarize all of it quite fast. "Although, well, this cruise terminal is near the location Macey's former partner was found, murdered."  
He then resumed, talking in the usual speed 'Soon after agent Marcia Schwartz was rushed to the hospital, her working partner, Pete Jones was found near the spot from where shots were fired, of which one hit Marcia Schwartz. Another one killed her captor.'  
Eric looked up. "Miguel Almeida. Her captor was Miguel Almeida. A brother, perhaps, of Oscar Almeida? Gonna ask Nell about it. It won't change the situation, I know. But still…"

"Please do," Sam suggested. He kept his gaze on the old, dark red Chevrolet in front of him and added, sending a quick glance at Callen "You think Hetty knows about all of this?"

Callen shook his head. "No way she knows and doesn't share. She won't do that." He took his phone, smirked and pressed the first pre-dial number. He waited some slow seconds as three buzzes passed.  
"Hetty? What else can you tell us about this location?"

He listened, stretching his neck from the left to the right and backwards, trying to get rid of the stress he felt.

 _-"Nothing. It is just…"_

It wasn't like the Hetty he knew. If for once he tried to keep something from him, she would be sharper. More specific. Callen simply nodded. "I think I get it."

 _-"Oh, Mr. Callen. There's no need to tell you I do not want to sugarcoat the danger I sense that is around. But still, it is nothing more than a lot of concern I feel about this whole situation. So I suggest you hurry up, dear boy. And take care, of yourselves and…"_

He interrupted this time. "We will, Hetty. If there's anything either Nell or you find out about the past or the current situation, please do share."  
Callen then hung up. For now, he preferred to be somewhere else. Some place quiet. Alone, preferably. At least, that was what he pushed himself to think, but deep down there was something shimmering, something he actually did not want to admit to himself. Alone was better. No-one to worry about would be better. Worry lead to mistakes. For himself, but for others as well. And there was no way he could allow himself to make any mistakes. Not now.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Harbor Scenic Way**

"Scenic," Martin Blake grinned, more or less to himself. "This is about 10 minutes to the cruise terminal, isn't it?"

Almeida nodded. "Perhaps even less. It'll be real enough. Fresh enough," he nearly chuckled.

"Right. From now on, we know our ways are parting for the time being. You know what to do, Oscar?"

"Don't worry about it," Almeida mentioned. "I'll just find my way to disappear. And Gerald in here found a way to get me payed."

"You're pretty quiet in here, Gerald," Blake now mentioned. "But I bet you're just as curious as we are if she recognizes this place."

Gerald Keene shook his head. "I don't really think so. But I don't really care either. It's just that I want this thing to get over and get the hell out of the country, just like you are."

Blake now huffed. "Yeah. Let's get this over with." And Almeida stopped the car, a grin on his face. He took the keys and the three men got out.  
"Here you are," Almeida said. He handed Keene the keys once he'd opened the trunk. Almeida and Blake dragged the woman up and out of the car. "Cut her arms loose, will you?" Blake asked the other man.

Oh, she tried. She fought, but it was in vain. The large boot of Blake stopped on her right arm and something inside snapped. She screamed behind the tape and tears started running.

"You know, we're going to need this now," Blake spoke conversationally. He nodded to Almeida, who took a knife.

"You think it's all necessary, Martin?"

A huff came as the reply. "Anything else you suggest? Don't be a pussy, Gerald. There's no way we can drag her in there against her will, is there? This is what we planned, and we stick to the plan. So, cut the crap."  
He then addressed Oscar Almeida. "And you, start cutting. And hurry."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects**

She wanted to turn the sound off, didn't dare to listen any longer. It was part of her job, and Nell had always hated this part. This time it was worse. She knew that downstairs, Hetty did the same.  
But Nell figured she didn't have to. The systems would be recording. Voices and sounds and facts. Yet there was no way her systems would keep repeating the raw emotion which went with it, now she understood what was going on.

The muffled screams and cries, which would have been loud without the tape.

The nearly careless way those men talked about the woman.

The knowledge that the team would be too late to prevent what was going on.

The sudden realization what they needed from the other woman.

The vicarious fear and struggle of the other woman.

No, no way Nell Jones wanted to shut down the systems, but as much as she wanted that, she knew she couldn't.

She swallowed several times, and called Deeks to tell them Martin Blake and Gerald Keene were on their way. "Don't try to stop them. Let them get what they need, then strike. Hetty told you before, didn't she?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Harbor Scenic Way**

The roaring motor of a car, followed by the screeching tires, very near, caught her ears. 'Too late', Macey thought.  
Too late, since at the same time, the right foot of her captor pushed her straight over the small ridge which divided the street from the water, deep and dirty. And she fell, at least a couple 30 feet, until the dark harbor water swallowed her.  
At first, there was no room for panic. Hardly any room for thoughts, except for sorrow, because she'd never find out what it was she had stashed away so carefully. She, and Pete, found something very precious. But she had no idea what it was.

The sheer pain paralyzed her body. There was no way she managed to try and find the surface of the dirty water. She tried to slowly breathe out, but the tape over her mouth prevented her to do it the usual way and she forgot how.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Too late. They were too late. Callen noticed how the Spanish looking guy simply pushed the woman over the edge. "Dammit Sam, Eric! See if you can get to that guy."

Sam understood. After all, Callen was hurt and would probably not be in the best position to fight at the moment."  
Three car doors opened at the same time. Shots were fired and then, seconds later it seemed, everything was quiet again. Sam then made a few large steps. He shove the gun of the other man away, then squatted and checked. No heartbeat - the other man was dead.

"G?" No response. Sam cursed aloud. Of course his partner forgot about his own wounds. He'd decided to do the thing he found which was important and he'd better get in the water himself…

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 _Thank you for reading!_

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And I'd give up forever to touch you  
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't wanna go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
When sooner or later it's over  
I just don't wanna miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am...

Goo Goo Dolls ~ Iris


	27. Chapter 27

**Dots**

 **Chapter 27**

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Thank you again for leaving your reviews, Wotumba, JaniceS, Linda Wigington, Mulderette, F4llon, Karine, Skippy, countrygirluk56, Blackbear54. Your comments mean a lot to me!

Kni®benrots

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Harbor Scenic Way**

'Too late', Sam reasoned. His partner forgot about his own wounds and had decided to do the thing he felt that was important…  
Sam shared a non-spoken message with Eric and there was a prompt response from the tech. "I'll get help, Sam. Do what you have to do."

Sam nodded, quickly shrugged out of his jacket, looked over the edge and pinpointed the spot where his partner must have hit the water. Before he did the same, he checked the quay before he finally took the jump.

Eric already had his phone ready and the number dialed. He shook his head as he located the former Seal in the dark water, yet was focused on doing the things he could do right now.  
"Nell? We'll need an ambulance in here, asap!"  
He knew he didn't have to specify the 'here' since his partner would know exactly where they were right now. There was not the short gasp which he heard so many times from her.

Instead, there was the simple confirmation from the office. _"On it,"_ he heard Nell say and Eric asked her "Please do keep me informed about the time of arrival. We may need to know, Nell—"

 _\- "I get it, Eric. I mean… we know. We heard it. They're on their way as we speak."_ She paused only a beat before she added _"Take care, Eric."_

He nodded as he hung up, although he knew she didn't see. She'd understand, he knew, even when he left the real message unspoken. Now, he let his gaze go over the many sea containers which were stacked on the paved area. He noticed the four men who were only about 50 yards from where he stood. They were obviously impressed by what it was they saw, and he only hoped they noticed he was one of the good guys.  
"Hey", he shouted as he ran their way. "Hey! Federal agents in here. Can you give me a hand?"

The largest of the men, dressed in a shabby jeans and a checkered shirt, came his way. "What can we do for you?"  
The moment the man posed the question, Eric didn't really know what it was they could do for him. After all, the distance from the quay to the water was at least 30 feet, he estimated. Still, he replied. "You got a ladder or something? I've got three people in the water."

A small smile flickered around the man's mouth. "Got a lifesaver rescue belt. If you'd ask me, that would be much better than a ladder in here would." Then, he turned and shouted some orders. "Make it two, Bert, and just hurry."

Before Eric knew, there were four pair of strong hands around, and some deep voices that were shouting orders.

"Sam?" Eric now yelled. There was no response yet, all he noticed was the head with the short hair of the agent in charge. "Callen? In here!"  
The smallest shake of his head came as a response, and there was no way Eric could reach the team leader right now. All he saw was how Callen immediately submerged again.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects**

She processed the short message Eric had more or less shouted through the phone and her own replies, yet Nell did what she had to do. Then she tried to call back, but even after some buzzes, he didn't answer.  
Then she sat quiet for a short minute.

If something bad had happened to Sam or Callen, Eric would've told her, she figured. And he called her, so he was alright. So... any ambulance would be for the one who was left with Macey, or for Macey herself. Or wouldn't it? She shook off her worry and decided it was better anyway to share this with Hetty.

Nell put on the denim jacket over her t-shirt and held up her long skirt in her left hand, took her tablet computer in her right one and hurried down the stairs as fast as she dared.

"I've got no eyes in there, Hetty. All we have is Eric's super-short message and now he doesn't even answer my calls!" she exclaimed.

"Oh dear... I see, I see."  
The small but determined older boss paused a beat before she took her own phone and made a call. "Stay focused on the dot, Mr. Deeks. Don't let it out of your sight, but take care for staying unseen at the same time. And mind you, do not interfere at any time unless I tell you to. Which means earwigs in, cams and mikes on, so we'll be in touch all the time".

She heard a short confirming hum through the phone, which meant the detective understood her perfectly, and hung up.

"Now, about this situation, Miss Jones. You and I both get what's going on. Is there, in your humble opinion, anything going on which may surprise our men?"

Nell let the message sink in for a short moment, then shook her head. "No… No Hetty. They will — but what if…"  
She didn't get the chance to finish her sentence. "What-ifs don't count, Miss Jones... they simply don't count. All we have and all we can do is to deal with the real world, no matter how brutal it may be."

Nell just nodded, still struggling with the thoughts of something terrible which might have happened. Hetty's words just didn't help.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Long Beach Cruise Terminal || parking**

It was only minutes after the phone call from their handling manager when Deeks inhaled and said "I don't know about you, but I'm getting pretty bored in here, waiting in this car."

The dark eyes of his partner, still behind the wheel, sent him a warning look yet she refused to reply.  
Deeks continued "What? It's true, babe. I can think of many, many different situations where I'd rather be right now. With you, preferably."

 _-"You know I'm listening, don't you, Deeks?"_ Nell's voice came in quietly. _"Hetty will do the same."_

 _-"Talking quietly won't help, Miss Jones."_ Oh, she listened, clear enough _._

"I bet you're blushing as-we-speak, Velma-dear. But now that I have your full attention, both of yours… I was talking about cruising. I really was… I am, right, Kenz?"

Kensi rolled her eyes, then suddenly understood what he was talking about. "Well… I suppose we could be in there, in the Dome, waiting and watching if they'd come in," she reasoned. "Although I'm not sure if –"

 _-"Oh, but they are, Miss Blye, they are. If you are wondering if there's a chance Blake and Keene will not enter or that they will try to escape anyway, by now I would call it null."_

"We'll blend in, as ever. But I'm not that sure about the back-up team you're sending."

There was a soft chuckle from the operations manager. _"Let me take care of that, will you, detective Deeks?"_

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Harbor Scenic Way**

All he could do is watch and wait and hope. It seemed like hours before he finally noticed how Sam emerged. He held a what looked like lifeless body, and still managed to hold it quite easily. Still, Sam looked around and Eric felt it was best to draw the senior agent's attention.  
"Grab the lifesaver, Sam. We'll get you up."

The 'we' were strong and experienced, so it seemed, and in matter of seconds Sam sat next to him on the quay. Eric swallowed and watched how the strongest of his coworkers checked for a pulse and at the same time tore off a piece of duct tape from the woman's face.  
Matters of a moment later, Callen was with him, gasping and panting from the physical effort of diving and swimming.  
The way Macey lay on the paved quay reminded him of a doll which was broken and simply thrown away. "Is she going to be okay?" Callen wanted to know.

Without speaking, Sam turned her on her left side and carefully positioned her right arm on her right hip. There was no answer, and Eric observed Sam's action, still standing. He noticed what Sam must've noticed too, and it wasn't good.

Shivering and exhausted, Callen lowered himself and sat on his knees next to his partner.  
"Sam? She gonna be okay?" he asked again.

There was a small nod. "She'll be needing medical care, fast."

"They're on their way. Should be here any moment now," Eric said. He couldn't help but keep his voice from trembling. Then he added "Those bastards…"

"Got this blanket for the lady. And your guy in here may need this." The tall man who helped him in what seemed like hours ago now handed Eric a far from clean, but warm and thick checkered shirt. Eric took it and was about to hand it to the agent in charge but he changed his mind. He simply shrugged it around Callen's shoulders and hoped it would help indeed.

From a distance, Eric heard the wailing of sirens, and he figured real help was on its way.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects**

 _"_ _I can't put a finger on it, but I get the feeling this will soon be over."  
_  
She could easily identify the voice of Martin Blake and she hated to hear the chuckle of the man coming through the mike while it was recorded in the NCIS digital files at the same time.  
Sure, Nell knew she didn't have to listen. At the same time, she understood it might help her coworkers in the field.

 _"_ _Who is the highest bidder so far, Martin?"_

 _"_ _Never mind. We need to get rid of it, of all of it and by any means, but not without erasing our own names. So far, I haven't found the best way to do that. We need to see this stuff first. Perhaps take it over the border, dunno. I don't really feel all that inspired right now. You?"_

Nell had kept her breath and now slowly let it escape. Files. They were talking about files. Papers, or digital files.  
She typed some new queries and hummed to herself now she figured she found what those two men were going for. She tapped her small headset and started speaking.  
"Kensi? Deeks? Position yourself near the safe-deposit boxes. From the blueprints I've studied, those are situated near the ordinary deposit boxes, you know, those in which you can stock your stuff for a few weeks. You could… well, find a way to stay unseen in there. Improvise. It seems that Blake and Keene are after certain files."

 _"_ _Files? These must be pretty important ones," Kensi said._

Nell shrugged. "Can't tell without having seen them. But from what I've heard, and from all the efforts we've seen so far, I think you're right. Don't screw this up, guys. And please don't scare them anyway."

More serious than usual, Deeks replied. _"No way we let these men get away, unseen, Nell. We'll be there and on the spot, promise you!"_

 _"_ _There's hardly any time left, but we'll improvise, no problem,"_ Kensi agreed.  
She pulled the keys from the contact and opened the door. _"Let's go, partner. Let's see if there's any place we can stay around without being to suspicious or recognizable."_

April definitely wasn't the most busy time for cruise trips, and it nearly scared them to see there were hardly any passengers waiting or queuing. _"Improvising won't be that easy,"_ Deeks admitted _._

"You've only got about half a minute now, Deeks. Do something," Nell ordered in his ear.  
Then, she heard a typical Kensi giggle. _"Rest assured, Nell. He found something!"_

Kensi shook her head. As always, her partner surprised her with his unusual inventions. By now, he'd taken one of the garbage bags from a bin and carried it to the deposit area.

 _"_ _The smaller deposit boxes have fingerprint recognition,"_ Deeks remarked. _"Which is—"_

"Don't…" Nell interrupted. "Don't tell me. Don't talk about it. Don't, please don't."  
She heard the gasp, Kensi's, and she understood they understood what she was telling them.

Then suddenly, she heard the soft humming and smacking sounds from her head-set. Sounds she didn't need to have explained. Improvising was the second nature of the field agents, after all, and for Deeks and Kensi it wasn't awkward at all.

Seconds later, she was glad she'd turned down the sound, since the yells of 'Federal Agents! Get down,' followed by 'On your knees. Hands behind your head!'.

More shouts and voices, but it all lasted a short minute only. No shooting. Smoothly.

 _"_ _Hetty?"_ Deeks clear voice sounded shortly after that. _"We've got it all."_ He swallowed away some thoughts, and lowered his voice so to keep in under control. _"I, uh, I… Do you think there's any use of rushing to some hospital and ask if… uh. There's this finger..."_

"I get what you are trying to say, Mr. Deeks. And I am aware of the awkward feeling you are describing. Time, however, must be an enemy by now. You may try, though… Agent Callen is on his way, with the same ambulance. Be sure I will contact him, and I will get in touch with you immediately after."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Long Beach || St. Mary Medical Center**

"I don't like this at all," Callen said. "I mean, what do you think what's going on around in there? How long —"

Sam shook his head. "Listen buddy, I know you think it's lasting over hours, but until now, we're in here and they're in there less than an hour so. From what we were being told, the medical team may need another hour, or less. Which is enough, I'd say, to have a proper shower, dry and warm clothes and medical check-up yourself, like this nurse just suggested."  
He smiled at his partner, and with that came a deep dimple in his left cheek. Then, he added "From what I noticed, this nurse would not mind helping you with that, G!"

"Quit it, Sam." Callen now put his elbows on his knees and muttered "If she would have listened, this wouldn't have happened, right?"

"Now you listen, G. If she had listened to you, we would not have those lists. Not now, probably not ever. You heard what Hetty thinks about it."  
There were some hums of his partner, who still wasn't in the best shape himself. "You almost went and got yourself killed, again. When are you ever gonna stop doing that?"

"I was not!" Callen said and he shook his head as he didn't understand what Sam meant. "What makes you think I was doing so? I saved your lives. Tried to save hers."

"So was I, buddy. Now you get that shower. Warm up, or, in your case, cool down and think about what I just mentioned. Try to understand that, no matter the consequences, this Macey of yours managed to find out what this was all about, with us or perhaps without us."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!_


	28. Chapter 28

**Dots**

 **Chapter 28**

* * *

 _So many great reviews, once again, on the previous chapter that was published. Thank you, they're so very welcome! Still, with this short chapter I've been struggling quite a lot. As for the medical mistakes I've probably made, please do ignore them since I am not trained for that métier._

Kni®benrots

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Long Beach || St. Mary Medical Center**

"It's not by any means 'Macey of mine'," Callen stated. "Don't know where you got the idea that —"

Sam chuckled softly, listening to the muttering of his partner, yet he decided not to push it, not now, not in this situation. For all he knew, he'd noticed the change in behavior throughout the past month. The annoyance when Hetty appointed Anna to one of the cases of their team, again, the relief Sam had read in the eyes of his partner once Kensi was back in the team and all went back like they were used to -the usual team, the usual partners and even the more predictable cases. Until Granger and G decided to try some foolish undercover op. Or well, foolish? He still didn't know, but all in all it set something in motion that could never be predicted.

So, Sam decided to give his friend a break and he remained silent instead of convincing Callen of something else he'd seen. He was glad Callen had done what Sam had suggested earlier on. And so he sat here after a shower and in some dry clothes. And a nurse-practitioner managed to put another five new stitches in his right hand and put a fresh dressing on both earlier bullet-wounds.

It still lasted another hour until a nurse came into the waiting area. She noticed how both men looked up.  
The reaction she saw was one she witnessed every day; several times a and brown eyes from the strong built dark man and haunted, red-rimmed clear blue eyes from the other man, and she smiled encouraging at both of them.  
"You're waiting to hear any news about the female patient we have in here, I suppose. Is anyone of you related?"  
Sam shook his head and quickly flashed his ID, and it made her wonder if the patient was a friend or a foe. She sighed and decided to keep her message neutral. "The patient will be transferred from the operation room to one of the surgical wards within an hour."

"So she's going to be okay?" Sam asked.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell all about that, but the doctor will inform you soon." She smiled again, sensing how the other man's breathed out as he relaxed a little. It made her understand that these men were here because they cared, not because they waited for an interrogation. She sighed and added in a gentle voice "It may look quite differently, but she will survive, Sir. With your, how shall I say, your profession, you will have seen many sorry situations. This won't look good, but believe me, I've seen worse. But I'm afraid I still can't give you any details."

Callen only nodded as a brief answer and once again, while Sam felt it would be better to thank the woman more personally. So, he smiled and said "Thanks, um, Kate."

When she left, Sam stretched his shoulders and shivered briefly. "Time for me to have a warm shower, I assume," he then mentioned.  
He was glad Eric had reminded them of the sports bag in the car, always around just in case one needed it, and he shook his head more or less to himself. It seemed like days ago by now when the younger tech had decided to drive back at their headquarters. 'Better off behind the screens', Eric had mumbled before he had left.

"G? You heard me?" Sam said. "I'm heading off to one of the visitors bathrooms."

Callen looked up and nodded. "Sure, Sam. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold. I'll stay and wait, in here." Softer now, he said "And thanks again, man. For everything."  
Once Sam left the waiting area as he headed to find a shower, Callen sighed several times. He detested hospitals and if it hadn't been for Sam, he probably would have left the place already. Or wouldn't he? He let his left hand go through his short hair and after that, over his face. Perhaps the weariness made him forget things which should be important…  
He leaned back against the backseat of this seat and it nearly felt comfortable.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

He must have dozed off, Callen concluded. Because when someone started talking, it was Sam who answered in a soft voice. He opened his eyes and, with the fingertips of his bandaged hand, he rubbed them.

"Are you with us, sir?" The female voice sounded gentle when she addressed him. She smiled when he looked up. Callen nodded at a tall woman, her black hair in a bun and thick glasses balancing on her nose when she nodded back.  
"Aisha Kahlid, surgeon. How're you doing?" She pointed at his hand.

He gazed at the same hand and smiled back sheepishly. "I'm alright. I mean, it's been taken care of." No matter the friendly face, he figured it would be alright not to mention his name and Sam obviously agreed with it since he introduced them "NCIS special agents, ma'am. You were the one who took care of the female patient in here?"

The woman nodded in response. "I understand. Indeed, I was the one who took care of miss, um, Jane Doe. Let me explain." She took a seat opposite of Sam and Callen, looked around if anyone might be listening and continued now she'd noticed no-one was around. "Actually, there were four different surgery procedures. The most simple was a series of sutures, since there was a serious cut near her collarbone. Then, there was uhm... this other cut. As you may have noticed, she lost her index finger. And although it was found, there was no way we could save it. I'm sorry about that. But you see, germs work faster than we can."  
She shook her head and it was clear enough the woman would have wanted this to work out with a different outcome. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"We understand." Sam's answer was brief.

Callen didn't respond. The only thing he was thinking of was how it would be when ones forefinger would be missing. No way to pull a trigger, for example. He shook his head and automatically mumbled the same words Sam had just expressed.

The surgeon continued. "One can adjust, you know. Of course, it depends on what kind of profession one has."  
Both man didn't respond, so she went on. "In fact, it was and is not what bothers us most. You see, there's this complicated fracture. Even now, it is clear that somebody put a size 11 boot on her forearm and elbow, which caused uhm, well, bones to break at places we wouldn't want them to. We're trying to let it heal, but pins, a cast and time will have to do the job for us."  
Again, she waited until her message was received and understood, so both Sam and Callen nodded and hummed.  
"It'll take time." Then she glanced at her short review. "As you may have heard, miss Doe was barely alive and more or less drowned. Now what we needed to do was to put a drain in her lungs for the next few hours. She's on oxygen at the moment. You see, it's an odd combination of aspiration and osmose. Hardly anyone knows, but it's very dangerous."

"Secondary drowning?" Sam understood.

"So you're familiar with it," the surgeon said with some kind of surprise in her voice.

Sam nearly apologized "Navy Seal. Dealt with it many times. I hope we were in time to save her, anyway."

A broad smile now appeared on the woman's face. "You were, Sir, you sure were." Her smile disappeared then and more serious she continued. "I sure hope none of the wounds will catch up any infections. Until our pulmonologist has seen her, we'll keep her sedated. I suppose it will be until about this time tomorrow."

Finally, Callen cleared his throat and asked "Will we be able to see her?"

"Sure. But it will still take some time, let's say in about a quarter of an hour. And she won't be in a condition to… well, to share any of your thoughts or answer any questions."

"Got that," Callen understood.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

"Hey!"  
The voice was clear, smoky and ringing at the same time and despite the fact he was woken by it and he still had his eyes closed, Callen heard by the single spoken word who joined him.  
Much to his surprise, he found himself still in the hospital, in one of the anonymous family rooms with plain, beige seats and partly covered by a comforter.

"What are you doing in here?" The words came out without too much passion and speaking made his throat feel hoarse.

"Kensi told me I could find you in here. So, I wanted to know if you have any plans for tonight." Anna Kolcheck shook her blonde locks to the left with her hand while she flashed a smile at Callen.  
He glanced at his watch and blinked his eyes several times. "Anna… please. It's far past eleven thirty."

She tipped her head to one side and, again, shook her blond locks with perfectly polished red nails. The color matched her short dress and lipstick. "I know, Grisha. Since when does that bother you?"

Callen pouted his lips and gazed at the young woman. Then, he slowly shook his head. "It does since now. It bothers me since now. Or actually, since you never showed up during the past few weeks. Since you refused to answer any of my calls. Since you preferred your spa and beauty salon and shopping sessions above something we actually never had. Anna… I'm not an accessory for another of the parties of your friends. I like you as the daughter of a friend and as a temporary co-worker, but in fact, there's nothing we really share."

Her mouth opened, then closed, and again she opened it, but no words came. Anna let her gaze go over his face and body and licked her lips, still lost for words.

"You got to admit it. So far, all you've done is visit me when _you_ needed me as an excuse escort. Well, let me tell you this: not now. Not anymore." Callen was aware his words were harsh, but at this time and at this spot he didn't feel like soothing his message. He was tired, or even worse, exhausted.

"I uhm… well, I guessed you would be operative."

He smirked and kept his voice flat. "You guessed. Well, you could've asked. Could've checked it too, or even better, you could've come to visit me at the hospital."

She lifted her chin and her mouth tightened. "Offended, are we?"  
She came closer and smiled again. The smile never reached her eyes, and so Callen shook his head and sighed. "Listen, Anna. Just don't do this… don't try. For the sake of a friendship."  
He felt washed out and leaned back in the seat. "I —"

"Does it have to do with this… the case you worked on?" Anna's words came out bitter now.

He raised his bandaged hand. "You bet it does. And to be honest, I need my beautysleep. Find someone else to party. Don't… just don't do this, Anna."

She turned, and left. There wasn't the slightest regret he saw or felt. Callen had expected some relief, instead he was dog-tired. He wanted to get up, find something warm to stop him from shivering, but didn't have the energy. He simply stretched his legs before he laid his body back in the seat and closed his eyes again.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects**

Sam Hanna had taken the rattan seat in what was Henrietta Lange's office in the open area. Hetty stirred one of her teas and watching her slow movements should make him restless. Not this time. It was nearly soothing, after a short night in his own place. Leaving his partner back in the hospital had not been his first choice, but he sensed his partner really needed his rest and he didn't have the heart to wake him up.

"You know what this is all about, Mr. Hanna?" Her pale blue eyes were serious and Sam was surprised how tired she looked.  
He shook his head. "Not really. I mean, I got that Deeks and Kensi managed to get Martin Blake and Gerald Keene arrested and they took what they got from this safe at the harbor office. That's about it, to me."

There was a smile on her face, an unusual mixture of pride and troubled. "Sergeants. Several agents and different agencies. A senator. A judge. Gang leaders, private contractors, drug dealers, attorneys, a security advisor, human traffickers... name it, we've got them." Softer now, she added "Even a senator, for heaven's sake!"

"All local, or dealers and traffickers from other states as well?"

She shook her head. "Even worse, Mr Hanna. Locals indeed, and domestic. But imagine, there are foreigners as well involved… Russians, Bulgarian, Venezualians... it's huge, Mr Hanna, huge."

"Traitors. Rogue men," Sam shook his head, corrected himself, "and women. Crap. Does Callen know?"

Again, Hetty shook her head. "Mr. Callen has not answered my call this morning."

Sam hummed. "Maybe I shouldn't have left him at the hospital, but well… He was sound asleep when I left and I figured he'd call in before I left home, or I would have met him in here."

"Well, remember he was supposed to be on sick leave."

He'd forgotten. With a sigh, he asked "About these files… where did they gather this evidence? And is all of it clear enough to make arrests?"

This time it was the tiny but tough Operations Manager to heave a deep sigh. She shook her head. "Not yet. You will understand that I have contacted the Pentagon. This will be a joint operation from now on in which we have to tread carefully. For your information, the ones who gathered it were well informed. You may call them whistle-blowers, however, they did a thorough job. It's more than facts and figures. There's pictures, copies of, well, of pretty everything you can imagine." She paused a beat and added in a softer voice "Some of the intel may have changed, or was suspected years ago and some cases even were solved before. But once the word goes that the files are found and overt, everyone will be after the ones who gathered the information."

"Pete Jones died. He won't be able to tell anything." Then his deep voice mumbled something which sounded like a curse and he shook his head. "Neither will special agent Marcia Schwartz."

"I want her out of this place, Sam. As soon as she's ready to be transported, I want her out to recover in a secure place. For now, Macey Campbell needs protection. I suggest you join your partner and take care of this matter."

He swiftly rose from the chair, making it squeak from the sudden movement. Sam Hanna was already on his way.

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 _Thanks for reading. I hope none of you will be offended because I had Callen ditch Anna. It needed to be done in this storyline :-)_


	29. Chapter 29

**Dots, chapter 29**

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A/N _Again, I'm so grateful that those who read this story, were leaving their ideas about it. It's what keeps me writing! So, thanks to Linda Wigington, Mulderette, Wotumba, Skippy, Janice, Guest and F4llon, I really appreciate your reviews! Next to that, I'm really sorry I haven't published this chapter any sooner. Struggled with what would be to come next..._

Disclaimer: all #NCISLA characters belong to CBS and Shane Brennan's production. I am glad to be able to use them, for the purpose of writing the stories only.

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects** || **Three days later**

"Why San Diego?"  
His blue eyes spat fire and he clenched his jaw. Although he was no longer feverish, Hetty noticed he still wasn't in the best shape ever. He still looked tired and actually, she — as his handler — felt he was far from up and running in the field. A small plaster covered his eyebrow, and around it his skin varied from purple to green. His posture was stiff from the tension, and Hetty sincerely doubted the decision which she was supposed to share with him.

"Not my decision, Mr. Callen. This is out of my hands."  
She raised her right arm and spread her fingers, a sign that she wanted to continue and stop any more interruptions.  
"I'll repeat: it is out of my hands... For the time being, assistant director Granger arranged a safe place for miss Schwartz to recover. And I suppose that is the best way to keep her from Harm's way."

Callen rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "For the time being...," he huffed. Then he heaved a deep sigh and took the coffee mug he had placed on her desk moments before. He stared at the deep brown, hot liquid and took another few sips of it. This was not what he had expected.  
Hetty had asked him to report at the office earlier that afternoon, deciding his sick leave was ending at the very same moment.

"We need all hands on deck, Mr. Callen, we really do. As ever, our Los Angeles unit has a lot of ordinary cases going on which need to be dealt with. Cases I sure could use you for as a the agent in charge, so I could be focusing on many other things. Unfortunately, this is not the case at this moment. As a matter of fact, you are needed elsewhere. It appears that there was a special request for a position in this special quarantined unit. To be more specific, they asked for you."

Callen slowly put back his mug on her desk and said "So, do I get this right, Hetty?" He put his right, bandaged hand on the desk and shifted his gaze from it to her face. "Really? You know and I know that I'm far from being operational. And as I remember, you were the one who sent me home and reminded me of it, when was it, yesterday? And now you're telling me that you need me in the field."

"Well... actually, Mr Callen, you did not hear me saying this. Now you are drawing your own conclusions. As a matter of fact, director Vance wants both Mr Hanna and you in Washington. As you may have heard, it is a joint operation."

Callen shook his head. "Sure, I knew about that. But… Why Washington? Is there no way to rat them out from different locations? Besides… I won't be of any use when it comes to field work."

Her lips twitched just slightly as Hetty said "Again, that is just a presumption. Paper work, Mr. Callen. Maybe it's all just paperwork they have left for you to do."  
She chuckled softly when she noticed the horror on his face. "I'm sorry, dear boy. But as you may understand, I am not the one in charge when it comes to 'Schwartz files'."

It had been a matter of hours only after they had closed the case that rumors were that the 'Schwartz files' were found. Someone in a high position must have leaked and the commotion caused by it had many agencies acting too fast or too slow. Cases which should have been closed went south and agencies were in a state of great disturbance.

Henrietta Lange was worried about it, yet she preferred to keep her worries close to the chest. However, the fact that two of her senior agents were summoned to come to work in Washington was something she couldn't stop – not even for the agent who sat in front of her at this very moment.

"Don't worry, Mr. Callen. We'll do what we have to do — 'to protect and to serve' as Mr. Deeks would say. But I wonder, doesn't it go for all of us as well, even though we're not the LAPD? Well, like I said, protecting the one who's most vulnerable will be our task. Therefore, assistant director Owen Granger will be taking care of keeping special agent Marcia Schwartz safe."

"Former special agent Schwartz. I believe she left ICE, though involuntarily." Callen remarked, his eyes fixed on his coffee once again. Then, he looked up and added "Shouldn't we just quit using that name and remember to call her like she prefers to be called – Macey Campbell?"

Hetty nodded. "Oh, Mr. Callen, I wouldn't want to disagree with you. However, I am afraid that is also out of my hands." Still, she shook her head. She sure understood her agent in charge.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Henrietta Lange watched how the team leader glanced at the file box which contained all the incoming paperwork. Callen thought the piles had grown during the time he had been away from the office. Which was odd, since he had not been involved in any new cases recently.  
He took his go bag which had been left beneath his desk and she watched how he checked its contents.

Oh, Hetty wished he'd be able to show his feelings instead of compartmentalize them. She could only imagine, and she wished that for once, he would show his deepest feelings. But he was as closed off as ever and for now, she simply had to guess what the man she still considered as 'her son' was thinking of.

When he closed the zipper of his bag, he glanced at her office. She was surprised by the warmth of his smile, when she least expected it, and Henrietta Lange was very grateful to be working with this man she'd seen growing up far too fast.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Washington DC** || **Two and a half week later**

He removed the bed linen like he'd been taught in the brief period he'd been in the army, and rolled it into a pile as well as he could. The package could be delivered at a Laundromat just like that, he knew. Then he simply stuffed clothes and other personal belongings in his go-bag, closed it and heaved a big sigh.

The soft chuckle came from Sam. "You know, you look awfully eager to leave the capital."

Callen looked up, not sure if Sam was just joking. "So what?"

His big partner shrugged, his neatly folded sheets and sets of clothes on the bed, ready to be packed before he was ready to leave as well. "Well, it's not that we're off to LA, are we?"

The two of them had just heard from director Vance that, as far as things could be arranged from Washington, all was wrapped up. "There's Denver. And after that—" Sam uttered some irritated mumbling when he discovered that no matter what, his neatly pile of shirts and trousers didn't fit in his go-bag. He glanced at Callen's bag only for a short beat, and wondered how on earth things always worked like this.  
Now heard the chuckle of his friend and he tried to ignore it as he continued "As I said, after Denver, they're probably sending us to another place. No way we'll be seeing our family anytime soon."

"So what?" Callen asked. He sat on the now empty bed and let his gaze go over his partner's face. Then he acknowledged "I mean… well. Of course it's different for you."

"Is it?"  
The short question from Sam surprised Callen. "Yeah. Guess so. I mean, you've got Michelle waiting for you. And there's Kam."

Sam shook his head. "You still don't get it G, do you? Now listen what you were saying. You know damn well that to them, to us, to me, you're family too, man. They miss you just as well. Which can be said of Hetty too, and the others."

This time, Callen looked like a berated child. "Okay. I get it, big guy. It's just that…"  
He didn't finish his sentence as he actually wasn't too sure what he meant. Perhaps it was his troubled youth and the fact that so many other people seemed so at ease and perhaps unaware with the simple affection. To Callen, he was able to observe it and to envy it at the same time. But simply accepting was another thing. After all, he'd been disappointed too many times in life.

"One day, G. One day, I'm sure you'll know what it is." Sam kept his words simple since he simply understood what Callen had gone through, hoping, waiting, being disillusioned and let down for so many years. There were scars deeper than the visible ones.  
He finally managed to close his bag as well, shrugged in his leather jacket and headed out of the hotel apartment which had been their home for the past few weeks.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects** || **One week later**

Hetty pursed her lips as she went through the list which just came into her mailbox with the usual 'bleep'. At first, her head bobbed as she understood what the message was. Then, she inhaled deeply and slowly let the air escape through her nose.  
Her gaze went at the non-occupied desks in the bullpen and immediately after at the empty chair in her office… What was it, nearly a month ago, that the lead agent of her A-team sat in that same chair and had questioned 'Why San Diego?'

At that time, the La Jolla hospital appeared a safe place indeed, like Owen Granger had expected. Now, she wasn't too sure anymore. True, she hadn't been too troubled about the situation ánd she never requested to be informed about the medical status of the younger woman Had it been a lack in judgement? After all, even the lists which had reached every agency and even reached the press, were named after the former agent 'the Schwartz files'. Keeping her own office matters up to date was a heavy duty with her two senior agents missing and the case load was growing.  
She shook her head and — after staring at her screen another few moments — she took her phone.

"Leon?" she said, the moment he answered his phone. "Leon. I want my agents in San Diego."

It was an actual statement, less a request. And brief, very unlike Leon Vance was used of the operations manager from Los Angeles.  
So was his reply. "Henrietta, I suppose you are talking about agents Callen and Hanna? In that case, you are aware that 'your' agents are my agents as well. Agents who are assigned to a national team working on the Schwartz files. "

"It's them I am talking about indeed." She sighed deeply and pressed the 'forward' button on her laptop. "I just sent you a message from one of my contacts in the Veteran hospital, where former officer and agent Schwartz is recovering at the moment. Owen arranged the location, as you know. From one of my inside contacts I understand that there were questions from the press, questions of which they were not sure if these were legitim or not."

"Questions like?" the director wanted to know.

Again, she slowly let the air escape through her nose, trying not to sound too aggitated. "Like how many men were admitted during the past four weeks and how many women. Questions like if those people were admitted wounded or simply ill, questions like that, Leon. And that's not the only thing my contact is worried about. All of a sudden, there were more requests for a voluntary position at several caring departments than during the past full three years. So, Leon… this is a situation which is worrying me. And before you are asking me to send my juniors to San Diego — As you can see, most people on the Schwartz files are out of office for the time being. Busted, fled or dead. So…"

She let him do the thinking and deciding, despite the fact that even when Leon Vance would disagree, she'd call for Sam and Callen herself, against whatever advice and no matter the consequences.  
Instead, there was some agreeing humming on the other side of the line. "Let me get back to you, Henrietta. I'll see what I can do for you."  
With that message, he simply disconnected the call.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **VA San Diego Hospital || 20 hours later**

"Trust me," Sam told the security officer. "You are one of the staff. How many beds you've got in here, some 350 maybe? You know everyone who's working in here, Steve?"  
He'd read the name badge of the younger man, who sat straight at his desk, with a bunch of four different camera's showing on the screen of his large computer screen.

"That's right, Sir. I mean, about the beds." Steve combed his dark brown moustache with his left hand as he let the question sink. "About the staff… well, actually I don't know. Like you said, there are many people coming in and going out, all uniformed. Whether or not they are nurses, janitors or volunteers, I wouldn't know."

"Then tell me, how are you protecting the patients around?" Callen wanted to know.

"Everyone needs an access card." Steve showed his which he was wearing at a key cord. There was a small picture and an ID number on it. "Ward doors will check it. Like our camera system does too."

Sam and Callen shared a glance, then Sam nodded to the officer with a friendly smile. "And what if I'd take your access card, put my picture on it and would try to enter whatever ward? Would I succeed?"

Again, the man let his fingers go through his facial hair before he replied with a question mark in his words "Probably?"

"Arrange another real card, will you, Steve," Callen asked. "The big guy in here will be around to assist you until we know what and who we're looking for."

The security officer went to work immediately, as if he understood that arguing was useless. "Uh-huh. You got a passport picture or an Id?"

There was another sympathetic smile from Sam as he took his ID and handed it to Steve.

When the security officer went to work, Sam turned to his partner. "The big guy, G? What about you?"

There it was, again. The self-assured smirk which Sam had actually missed during the past few weeks reappeared. "Well, I thought that I could use my previous cover. Why not have Thomas Roberts admitted to this Veteran Hospital as well?"

"You gotta be kidding, G!" Sam's dark brown eyes dilated with the unexpected message of his partner. Callen, on the other hand, chuckled with the horror on Sam's face.  
"Let's see if that works out well. From the inside, it must be easier to stop who-ever needs to be stopped. And as a matter of fact, I've got all there is left of the cover Granger arranged earlier on."

"For crying out loud… it nearly got you killed!"

"Doesn't matter any longer, buddy. Everyone involved really was killed or is behind bars by now. Actually, this may be a perfect place for Roberts to be either an in- or an outwarded patient who needs to be healed from a shooting. That way, I can stay close to Macey anyway," he pleaded.  
This time, Sam read nothing but worry and a short glimpse of something else in his partner's clear blue eyes. Something he'd hoped to see, one day. He slowly breathed out and closed his eyes for a brief second. One day…  
One day, but would today be the perfect day for it? Sam didn't know, but he understood there was no way of reasoning differently. It was a plan he never envisioned, and he did not know if he really wanted to agree with his partner, but he did.

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 _Thank you for reading! A review is very welcome, as ever!_


	30. Chapter 30

**Dots, chapter 30**

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A/N Thank you all for being this kind and patient once again. To those I could thank in person through either twitter or being a user of FanFiction: thanks again. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to tell Skippy and 'guest' how much I appreciate your 'thumbs up' and comments you've left on this storyline so far!  
Thank you for reading and leaving any reviews.  
Because of some fun things (like birthdays in our house) and less fun things (like a minor operation on my hand, which makes typing and writing quite a burden), this chapter is not too long…

Kni®benrots

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Disclaimer: as ever, I'm glad to use the #NCISLA characters in this storyline. They all belong to CBS and Shane Brennan's production. All the other characters were made up by myself, and in case they resemble or are named after real persons: this is purely coincidental!

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **VA San Diego Hospital || 5 hours later**

It was a large room, which once was probably designed to feel homey. There was a large TV screen in one of the corners, a pool table as a center piece in the 'family room', three different lounge sets with some smaller coffee tables. The design dated from over at least 20 years ago and from the look of the lounge set closest to him, Callen estimated a couple of hundreds of people must have used it.  
He sighed deeply. The scene reminded him from the short two days he'd spent at a mental hospital earlier. Dull beige chairs combined with pinewood. Magazines which were literally read to pieces. The only colorful things were the fake green plants. And this was a place where people were to recover. People who served their country.

Unconsciously, he shook his head. He didn't know how long he could stand to stay in here, posing as a patient once again.

Callen turned to the room which was assigned to him. One he was supposed to share with three other male patients. He sat down on the bed. The pale grey bed frames and a blue comforter looked alright, but he smelled and felt the thick, vinyl waterproof cover of the mattress below it. He swallowed several times, remembering the feeling of wanting to escape situations like this so many times. Why had he planned this?

Then, he realized that whatever happened, he'd be okay and able to walk away from this place if he needed to. It wouldn't be the same for many of the others who stayed in here.  
He quickly redressed, using one of the standard provided grey joggers and a hoody. The combination of this street-ware with dark blue bath slippers was an odd one, but a least it was less itchy than the cotton clothes he remembered from jail or the mental hospital.  
Now all he just had to do was wait.  
And he might just have to do that with the one he trusted his life with.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

"Who'd you reckon can be behind this probable threat, G?" Sam wanted to know. Addressing his partner as G now seemed quite strange to Sam. The man sitting next to him looked like a stranger, although the alterations were so minim. Like every time in the past, Callen needed to adjust his posture just slightly to become a whole different man. True, his hair was shorter again, there was less scruff than he'd seen lately and the eye color changed from the striking blue to an unusual light brown.  
The man he saw was the same as he'd seen weeks ago. Thomas Roberts.

Then, the friend he knew was back, as Sam noticed the slightest wiggle of his jaw. A sign Callen was thinking but couldn't find the right answer.  
"Wished I knew," he admitted. "But with this whole interagency thing, I really don't know which dots have been connected and who is behind bars, dead, hunted or whatever. But then, some guys around got quite paranoia, right?"

Sam nodded. "Let's see if the wonder twins can work with what we've got in here. This guy Steve handed me all he had when it comes to lists of personnel. I'm sure there's something they can find at the Office. It's not that they cannot compare it to the 'Schwartz-list', can they?"

"True," Callen agreed. He then couldn't hide a yawn. It made Sam grin. "Guess it's the traveling that caught up with you. You might want to take a nap, G. Just relax."

"Gotta be kidding. No way I voluntarily going to be sleeping on one of those." Callen glanced at his partner, knowing now that he was just teasing. "A cup of coffee makes me able to handle this. And you're right. I still haven't got a clue who is still in the field." Again, he shook his head. "They'd be stupid to come over in here and try, don't you think?"

Sam simply nodded. He'd come up with the same conclusion.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects, Ops centre ||** **One hour later**

"What've missed?" Nell wondered. "I mean—"

"A Caf-Pow," Eric interrupted. "That's what we've missed. You know, one of those full 35 ounced filled with straight adrenaline." He felt the gaze of his partner and started to blush. "It's true, Nell. I really could use some caffeine of some sort. Simply because I still don't see it." He started shaking his head. "We've got them all, I figured."

"All, except for judge Alfred Hofman." Hetty's voice sounded behind them. She had silently entered the Ops room, as ever. "But then," she added, "the Secretary of State let me know that the Department of Justice informed Interpol as well. Which leaves us at another blank canvas."

"But… I thought. But—" Eric now stammered.

"If we think, Mr. Beale, that there is no-one more left to find, we should find the one who knows more."

"Of course Hetty," Nell said. She meant it rather sarcastically, but then she reminded herself of something else. "You think it could all be related to the Long Beach women. I mean, the ones who were let go after agent Schwartz was left wounded? Those witnesses, Eric. We talked to some of them, but stopped when they'd let us more about Martin Blake. CIA. Those women."

He nodded. "What if—"

"Find them, Mr. Beale, miss Jones. And keep the others informed about whatever it is you come up with." She simply turned around with this near order and knew the two analysts would dig until they found something. Whatever it might be. The case was working on everyone's' nerves by now and it certainly needed to be closed.  
Henrietta Lange pursed her lips for a brief moment, as if she was pondering over how it could and would change more than the lives of some of the people involved.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **VA Hospital || San Diego**

Macey Campbell had taken one of the seats and tried to be as comfortable as possible. She'd settled in with a book. One knee up, an in-ear headphone and a cup of some kind of hot fluid. She looked fragile and smaller than Callen remembered. There was a certain softness and vulnerability, now he observed her. He didn't know if it really was there, since all Callen had witnessed so far was strength and stubbornness.  
But seeing her, in here, after those few weeks, was different from what he'd expected, although he did not really know what he actually expected.

He eyed over the other visitors of this open living room. Two women were around, of which Macey was one. The other woman was an Asian looking older woman, who wheeled herself from one side of the place to another. Callen counted at least eleven male visitors, none of whom he recognized.  
He stood for those short few seconds only, and much to his surprise it was only she who appeared to notice.

Her gaze went from surprised to something he could only describe as a mix of annoyance and guilt. He swallowed several times, noticing how her right arm was still in some kind of cast, and he knew talking to her wasn't going to be that easy. Callen crossed the room and approached her.

"Do you mind if I have a seat in here?"

She shook her head and removed her headphones. Meanwhile, she glanced at him. Her voice was soft when she asked "You're, uhm… You've changed. Again."

He nodded and introduced himself "Roberts. Thomas Roberts."

"Yeah. I bet. So, what's it you're doing in here? I mean, you don't look like you're wounded or something. Need medical care?"

He chuckled softly with her words and shook his head. "You should've known better."

"Would I?"  
Although her voice was still low, he also heard the bitterness.  
"Your superiors decided that I should recover in a secure location. Just in case anyone is still at large. Tell me, agent Callen, who those 'any ones' are. Cause I figure that you don't know. And I most certainly don't know. Because no one thought it was necessary to share this with me." He wanted to interrupt, but she motioned him off. "You know, even if, IF, I remembered anything, I still wouldn't know." She sighed deeply and turned her face from him.

He understood. "It wasn't my choice, Macey."

"But you chose to come in here. Tell me, why? Is it anything your mysterious superior knows? Did she share?"

Callen shook his head. "She wasn't the one who arranged this place for you." It had been Owen Granger, and Granger probably had someone around this place to keep an eye on her. He needed to find out about that person. Not soon — Immediately. After all, somebody in here had noticed too many questions. Who had this somebody been?

"How've you been, Macey?"  
His question surprised them both. She shrugged as a response and Callen saw how her gaze went over her arm, her hand and after that, over the other veterans in this room.

She then looked up at him, and much to his surprise she said "It was an impulsive decision I made when we were at this boathouse of yours. So, this is all up to me, I guess."

There it was, guilt. And he hardly knew how to handle that. "Might be," he nodded. "But without it, we wouldn't know what we know now. Your—the 'Schwartz files' — were all over the news. We thought we had them all."

"Really?" Her question came, and he saw she was serious. "I mean… It's not what people are talking about in here… But — you thought?"

He hummed. "Yeah. Until word got someone is still looking, and informed around if someone knows about you. Shouldn't be happening, but it is. So, here I am, trying to find out. Care to help?"

She looked away again, for a second. "Sure. Tell me, how?"

* * *

 _Thank you for reading!_


	31. Chapter 31

**Dots, chapter 31**

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A/N To those who follow this story and keep reviewing: thank you all so very much! To those who read: the same. I'm glad I can take care of some distraction at all! As for the best wishes about my hand: thank you. It was necessary to remove an alarming and large dot, and by now there's a nice (not so) indentation, now all the stitches have been removed. Typing is getting better, but was a slow process at first.  
Dots… Let's see how this story continues. Struggled with this chapter too, and will leave it like it is right now.

Kni®benrots

* * *

 _Disclaimer:_ as ever, I'm glad to use the #NCISLA characters in this storyline. They all belong to CBS and Shane Brennan's production.

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **VA San Diego Hospital **

"Sure. Tell me, how?" Macey asked. "I mean—" She paused, pondering over what she'd been thinking of lately.

He smiled her way, then glanced around, more concerned than he wanted to be. "Is there any chance to discuss this in a more private surrounding?".

"You think that's necessary? I mean, so far I don't know if there is anything to discuss. Until now, nobody thought about it, discussing something, in here, with me. So, why now?"

Callen tried to ignore her shrug. It was as if she wasn't that eager about her previous agreeing on some kind of assistance. Still, he was patient and said "That is exactly what I will explain, Macey."

She nodded and calmly started to wrap up her headphone with her left hand. Once done, she closed her book and got up on her feet. Then she nodded and motioned Callen to follow her.  
Her room, which she obviously shared too, was the second one on the corridor and close to the exit. "You can take the chair," Macey said as she sat down on her bed and rubbed her face. Nervous, perhaps, Callen figured.

She now brushed her hair behind her ears. Left-handed, and she kept her gaze on his movements. "So… your hand… did it heal well?" she asked.

Callen glanced at the healed wound where he, or rather Thomas Roberts, met with a bullet, weeks before. Indeed, it healed, better than he expected. A nasty scar ran over his right hand, the one he mostly used. The sutures had been removed weeks ago, but were still visible, almost like a railway which was painted by a small child: curves and all.  
And although he knew that with the time passing, the color would fade, he hated the itchy feeling of where the skin and underlying tissue had been torn apart.  
"I guess it still heals. I learned to work ambidextrous a long time ago." He looked up at her and added with a serious face "I'll be okay. You?"

Again, she shrugged.  
Callen wasn't the person who was into a lot of chit-chat, but he felt it was worse now for her. "How's it really going, Macey?"

Macey slowly shook her head. "Been better. Actually, I hate it in here, being… being in here with no privacy at all." She paused a moment before she went on "And I still don't know if or when I will be able to fully use my arm ever again. This cast should be removed any time now, and after that there's even more physical therapy. There's the endless talks with a psychologist. There's being locked up in here between people who're worse off than I am. There are fights. Everyone seems to be living in their own little world, in which I certainly don't belong. Nightmares of… well. Lots of people deal with it." She looked away now, staring at the floor. "You think that I can leave, since you're here?" she asked, soft now. "Because I really don't belong in here."

Callen shook his head and answered "I really can't tell, Macey. A lot has been going on lately, you know. Right now, like I said, lots of federal agencies all around the country are working on wrapping up the case, or rather a series of cases, which are called the 'the Schwartz files'."

A nod came his way. "You already mentioned that."

"Then you also know that the assistant director of NCIS, Owen Granger, arranged this place for you in here."

Again, a nod came as a response.

"It should be a safe place, in here, until you're fully recovered any way." He decided to ignore her deep and disappointed sigh, which, in fact, he understood completely. "Did you notice… how shall I call it. Did you notice any changes around?"

She felt uncomfortable with it, Callen sensed. And he understood. This was about her, yet everybody had failed to inform her about anything. "Changes… people come and go. If that's what you mean with changes…" she shrugged. Somehow she looked young and innocent right now, as she fidgeted with the sleeves of a sweatshirt which was pretty much the same as his.

There was a soft knock on the open door and Callen was glad to see Sam standing in the doorway, dressed as one of the nursing personnel of the hospital. "Am I interrupting?"

Callen shook his head, while Macey looked up, her eyes widening. "How many of you are around?"

"Just the two of us," Sam replied, a warm smile on his face. He then addressed his partner. "And Luke. Luke Barton. He's a psychologist in here, and he's been contacting Hetty and trying to keep an eye on you, Macey."

She tilted her head slightly "So he's paid to talk to me, and talk to your bosses about me?" A short huff sounded and she got up on her feet again, anxious now.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it works." Callen tried to shush her. "But from your words, I understand that the two of you've met." He paused a beat. "Thanks Sam. Anything else we need to share?"

"Not now, I don't think so. Just that we all should work out some kind of plan. Guess I'll contact the office and see if there's anything else we need to know." He nodded as some kind of greet, turned and left them alone.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects, Ops centre**

He sensed her presence, although Eric had not heard her entering the place where he and the other analysts worked.

"Anything, Mr Beale?"

He turned around and answered. "That depends. I mean, yes Hetty, there's always sómething." He emphasized that last word – something. "Like, well, like nobody seems to be looking for Thomas Roberts nowadays. Besides that, there's been only one of the nurses who recognized the name Macey Roberts."  
He swiveled his chair from facing their tiny boss back to turn to the screen again. Knowing Hetty would stand behind him the moment he would look up, he kept talking as he pointed at the screen at the same time.  
"As you know, we've checked all the personnel again, and Nell is running another investigation with Kensi. Talking with female witnesses who're still in town. Deeks went to talk to Bates, to see if LAPD has any files on the case from that time."

"So?" It was a one word sentence with an extra-long 'o', and uncharacteristic for the petite Operations Manager.

"Well, so far, those were the 'anythings' I can share with you. Nothing on the people working at the veteran hospital, so far."

A deep sigh came from behind him. "Well… perhaps we've been wrong, all the time. Perhaps, with the positive economic situation, there were truly more applicants wanting to find a job, voluntarily or paid."

Again, Eric swiveled his chair. "If there's one thing I've learned while working in here, it is that we should trust our training and trust our gut feeling. Actually, it was you who told us. So… there's no way our men are in San Diego for whatever economic situation at all." He then started to blush, and stammered "Well… I, uhm, I… well, I did not mean to insult you, Hetty."

She stepped closer to the younger analyst and patted his arm. "Why, thank you, dear boy." She then smiled and added "Well then, back to work, Mr. Beale. And do not hesitate to mention any new somethings, will you?"

He chuckled, and pushed his glasses up the bridge up the bridge of his nose and focused on his screen again.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **VA San Diego Hospital, early next morning **

"I've noticed."  
It was one of the very rare times that Macey heard her roommate talk. She tried to make eye-contact with the older woman, but failed as ever. All Macey had ever seen and experienced was that Janice was continuously nervous and she moved from one way of the corridor to the other. However, in this small room which reminded her of the room at the university campus, the wheelchair was no real option. The only way to avoid other people was to avoid talking and making eye-contact.  
"What do you mean, Janice?" Macey asked.

"The man."

Macey frowned, still not too sure what she was talking about. "Which man? Man or men?"

"The interested. And the tall black one. All of them."

Again, she frowned. "You've seen me talking to two of the men in here. If that's what you've noticed, you're right." Macey tried to make it sound as natural as possible, but it was exactly that what she did not want to hear. "Wanna have breakfast with me, Janice?"

Again, the other woman started wriggling nervously. "Dunno. They will notice. No."

Macey managed to hide the unease she felt with these simple few words Janice had spoken, but sent a short smile at the other woman. Not too sure if or if not Janice picked up the right body language, she added "It's okay, Janice. These men are okay. Thank you for being around. Thank you for — for noticing."  
Whatever it was Janice had noticed, it was giving her the creeps how she put it into words.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Again, it struck him how alone and how innocent she looked. Even, or perhaps because of, being in such a large restaurant. Yes, he concluded she certainly looked out of place. Not the best choice of Granger.  
There was a finished breakfast plate in front of her, and probably some hot beverage, since Callen noticed the steam coming from it.

Meanwhile, she looked around, as she fidgeted with something in her right hand. Inwardly, he smiled, as he remembered how his physical trainer had taught him many weeks ago. In his case, it was because tendon, muscles and tissue were damaged, and Callen was grateful all had healed better than expected. Nearly all functioned like it should. In her case, it was different.  
He watched, preoccupied, how she managed to move the coin from finger to finger, three times. One time less than she should, because she missed one finger.  
Callen sighed deeply, knowing there was no way to turn back time and change the situation right now. All he wanted was to close the case, for all of them.

Then he queued, took whatever looked eatable and sat down with some other men. Once he finished his breakfast, he was convinced that nothing had changed.

He went to see Sam, aware that his partner probably had a much better night since he didn't have to share a room with some snoring older man, on a bed which matrass cover creaked every single time one changed position.

"Any news?"

"Cranky, are you, honey?" Sam couldn't hide his broad smile, knowing his friend better than anyone else. He still chuckled when he replied "Nothing. Eric came up with nothing else, G. All personnel are as clean as a whistle. I've been watching video footage of the past few days with this guy Steve. Really, nothing stood out. I'd say we contact Hetty and suggest we quit. Something in her observations must have misled her, and with that, us as well."

A long 'hmmm' sounded. "Neh, don't think so. Who would have played us like that? Is there someone around who wants us here? And if so, with what reason?" He leaned back against the wall, and put one foot flat against it. "Or is there someone who wants of out of the field? And if so, what reason could there be? Nope, big guy. There must be a reason. Someone noticed something suspicious, warned director Vance or warned Hetty who wanted us in here."

"Guess you're right," Sam agreed. "Still… I don't get this." He took his cell phone and dialed. The call was answered for immediately.  
"Eric? What can you tell us about the people on the list, about the 'Schwartz files'? Are you just as convinced as all the leaders of all the alphabet soup of agencies we've got them all?"

"Every single one, for every single mentioned fraude, crime or whatever. Dead, or alive and rotting in jail." The tech analyst sounded very certain about that. He added, though, "All, except that judge. He obviously fled to somewhere in Europe, but they're closing in on him, so it won't take long until he's behind bars as well."

Sam watched his partner, and shook his head, motioning there were no leads at all. He shrugged and, after a short pause, said "Well, thanks Eric. Let us know if there's something, anything at all, will ya?"

"Will do so, Sam." With that, they closed the call, leaving them with nothing new at all.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The morning went by pretty slow. One of the daily routines was a group discussion, which Macey disliked for having to discuss items with people she felt she didn't share anything with. She felt for the people in here. Veterans, who served their country. And now, being injured physically at the least, and mostly mentally too, they were being rejected by society.  
No jobs, no ordinary family life, but put away behind walls, dealing with their own problems instead of having a chance to get away from here.  
For her, it would be different. Sure, in terms of career, she was a veteran too, although she never realized it. She didn't remember anything from that period. Didn't have anything to share either, although Luke Barton had tried to work with here on her memory items. Not that he had succeeded.

After the session, Macey felt jaded. Still, instead of simply sitting down and do nothing, she decided to change into the issued sports clothes. A run in the secluded park area would sure do her good.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

"I told her. I've noticed. They're watching. Her and you."

The older woman, wheeling across the recreation room, stopped when she noticed Callen. Her voice was gentle and the words sounded polite, but the message was alarming.  
"Who's watching?"

"They are. They come by day and never stay. I've noticed. There are new ones since you arrived."  
It sounded like a riddle, but he did not feel like guessing. "Where is she?" Callen nearly snapped.

She shrugged. "Out. I noticed. She went outside."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Any comment is welcome, so please do leave a review!_


	32. Chapter 32

**Dots, chapter 32**

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A/N I'm nearly sorry to have left with some kind of cliffhanger… Nearly ?

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o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **VA San Diego Hospital **

"Outside. What do you mean, she went outside?"

The woman shrugged, then wheeled from where they stood back to the other side of the room. Without speaking, she simply motioned to the windows, and Callen oversaw the secluded green park, where many of the patients were walking or running.  
"You noticed there were… other people? People you haven't seen before?"

Her gaze never met his, and Callen wondered what it was she was in here for. He tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible, not showing any urge. He did experience it, though, and all he could do was to trust what she told him.

There was another shrug, and a nod of her head.

"Thank you, Janice. Thanks for sharing. It may be very important, what you just told me."

Callen then simply turned and left as quickly as he could. While he ran down the stairs of the two floors, he had his phone in his hand and dialed the number of his best friend and partner. He never expected the line to be busy though.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Minutes earlier**

He'd never get used to it, Sam figured. Right now, he was dressed in the uniform of the security personnel. It felt uncomfortable. Not only being dressed like this, but also working without Callen, no matter they were in the same building. It was the material as well. Too much synthetic material, he concluded. He adjusted his shirt a little, rolled his shoulders and decided he was ready to go again.  
After a healthy lunch in the personnel cafeteria, Sam joined his temporary new partner on the ground floor. Unlike the previous day, Steve sat upright, studying his screens. He hardly looked up when Sam entered.

"Hey buddy. What's up?" Sam asked. He noticed something was different, simply by observing the other man.  
Steve's fingers went over the panel of keys as he answered. "Fentanyl. Someone was taking it from here, from my place, I mean… damnit," Steve muttered.

"Fentanyl?"

Finally, the man looked up at Sam, immediately letting his fingers go through the beard, like he did the other day. He then nodded. "Fentanyl." He inhaled deeply and slowly breathed out through his nose. "It's being kept on the first floor, in the medicine supply room. I think word goes that it's easy to get, but damn, I still don't know how they do this."

"Wait. First floor. That's the hospital, right? I thought it was only to be accessible for personnel and patients. Not those patients of the second and third floor?"

"That's right. First floor is only for those who need serious treatment or surgery."

"Treatment?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Like — ehm. Like those who served in 'Nam, now suffering from the final effects of Agent Orange. Terrible thing, that is. Some of them come in here for their final treatment too, you know," Steve explained.

"I get it," Sam said. "And Fentanyl is being used to soften the pain."

A cynical chuckle came from the other man. "That's right, it's used for end-of-life purposes. It works like a charm." He was serious immediately after that and said "In smaller amounts, it works like any drug. Gives you some happy and relaxed moments. And never mind we keep it behind locks, someone manages to get it anyway." More serious now, Steve continued. "For those who leave the hospital without having to stay 'up'" — he pointed to the floors upstairs — "For them it's a perfect extra income."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. But I heard it's a messy stuff if you're not able to take the right amount. It kills too many drug addicts anyway."

"That's right. We're using it in anesthetics, in patches, when it works like morphine," Steve said. "It's addictive, they say."

"Never mind that. You're worried because it was taken, and you missed the when and how, right?"

"Damn right I'm pissed when this is happening in my place. So, I was trying to find any clues. There's this, though." Steve said, and while he combed his reddish beard with his left hand again, the fingers of his right hand slowly moved the computer mouse until he reached the point he wanted to show Sam.  
It was all black and white and the footage was pixeled and less clear than Sam was used to. Still, he noticed what Steve had seen before.  
One of the patients, dressed in a light cotton jumpsuit like every patient seemed to be on that floor, leaned over to the stairwell and lowered a small plastic bag to the ground floor.  
"Did you identify the guy?" Sam asked as he tried to process what happened and why it bothered the other man this much.

"Nothing yet. Nor with the daycare patient… What bothers me is that taking this stuff in here is definitively more difficult than say import it from Mexico and have it issued by one of the cartels." Steve caught Sam's gaze and added "Why, Hanna?"

Sam shook his head. He wouldn't know either. "I'll see if my co-workers will be able to identify these men." He used the pre-dial function and it didn't take long before he heard Eric answering the phone, and he explained what he wanted.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

If Janice hadn't told him about the ground floor and all of the premises, Callen perhaps wouldn't worry like he did right now. Daycare patients who came here for what kept them off the streets as a matter of fact: substitutes for several drugs. But only for those who were working hard and the veteran administration functioned as some kind of rehab.  
He should have known, Sam should have known that too. It also meant that there was no way that Granger and Hetty, nor Eric or Nell, checked with the ones who were around only every now and then. It practically meant that this whole investigation on this final threat was useless.

He tried Sam's phone again while looking for Macey. Nothing. The line was still busy, and he really needed to go outside and see if he'd spotted her. So he went for plan B and called Nell, and he explained what he found out and what he needed her to do.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

She really needed this. Macey breathed it the fresh air. The light breeze was accompanied with what she recognized as some salty sea air, but it might just as well be the imagination, the wish of feeling it. Running had always helped her when she was out of inspiration for a story.  
Still, running with the lump of heavy cast on her arm was a burden, but the idea of it being removed the very next day was a good one.  
She was counting down. One more half lap on the paved area behind the building, and that would be enough for this day. She smiled, though be it a cynical and short one. It was stupid and frustrating to running laps like she was doing right now, instead of in the woods behind her own place. She really looked forward to it, instead of still feeling the anger of being stuck in this place. Again, she breathed in deeply and decided to go for a full 100m sprint.  
This was good, and she loved it the feeling of giving it all.

She was panting when she returned, and she stood with her hands resting on her knees.

"Just… try to keep breathing like this."

The hissing voice sounded from the shadow of the open of the back entrance, and she looked up in surprise when she heard it. Not some voice she knew. And there was no way she would recognize the two men, who both wore operation masks, nor the voice of the third man who was the only one speaking. The slightest bit of a white powder came her way, being puffed into her face, and although she was aware of the possible danger of it, there was no way to escape it. Macey coughed twice, but she knew it had entered her lunges already, and it felt like her whole body was shutting down. Drowsiness took over, and it made her leaning to the wall and slowly lowering to the floor.

She tried… to keep breathing and not to throw up.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS office of special projects, Ops centre **

"Anything wrong, with Sam calling?" Nell asked.

There was a short 'ping' when an e-mail came in, and Eric shrugged as he replied without watching his partner "He wants me to try and identify two men." He adjusted his glasses unwittingly and asked "And Callen?"

She scraped her throat and shook her head. "He was unable to reach Sam. Got them to contact each other." She paused a second and added "And he plainly told me we made a mistake not to check the daycare patients. They obviously walk in and out." She chewed on her lower lip, not too sure how to handle the situation. "He definitely is worried, Eric. Callen's worried because of this, because someone told him to be even more vigilant. Someone in there was watching this Macey-woman, and someone told Callen they were keeping tabs on him as well."

"No way." Eric said. "I mean, no way anyone knows about Callen being in there."

"You sure about that? I mean…" Nell looked around and started talking in a low voice. "Someone told Hetty that there'd been talks about Macey to be spied on, right? What if it was only to lure Callen in there as well? What if all of this was too predictable, even though Callen went in with an alias?"

"Please do go on, Miss Jones. Which other 'what ifs' can you come up with? Surprise me."  
Nell should have known. Had it not always been like this? Whenever there was something she did not want to discuss, the little Ninja seemed to pick up a certain sign.  
She started again. "Well, as I was saying. What if someone wánted you to send Callen in there, it must have been someone who knew about the connection between you, Callen and Macey Campbell, right?"

It wasn't often that Nell left all the others stumpfounded, yet this was one of the awkward moments.  
It was Eric, however, who mumbled "Martin Blake." With a new kind of energy, he linked lists to lists, not bothered by any mistakes Callen had mentioned. All that mattered was that Sam knew exactly where Callen was right now.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **VA San Diego Hospital **

He ran the whole circuit himself, and worried because there was not a sign of her. "Nothing, Sam. She should be here, somewhere, and —" He paused, saw, observed and understood. He lowered his voice. "Back entrance, behind the trash containers. Two, no, wait… Three men."

He heard the short curse from his partner, who was at least one corridor away right now. Minutes. "Gotta wait, buddy. You can't go in there, shooting or what?"

Callen heard. Understood the urge for Sam to be in there together, but at the same time he was anxious because all that happened was two of these three men just stood and watched the third man, who spoke in a very low voice to another person. And it was about that other person he was here, and he didn't want to be too late.  
Without disconnecting, he put his phone in the large pocket of the hoodie he was wearing. Then he approached the group until he was near enough, and decided, though unarmed, to warn them.  
"Federal agents. Step back!" And, when no one seemed to move, he yelled "Stand down, all of you!" No matter what, he knew he won another half minute.

"Callen… stop." Macey's voice was soft, weak, and he did not see her.

Her remark caused the third man to take a closer look at Callen, and a grin appeared on his face. "Agent Callen?! That is such a — how shall we put it — such a perfect coincidence. Like they said it would happen, actually."

He couldn't help but stepping nearer, but halted when he heard her voice again, wheezing now. "Stay… there."

He did, not too sure if it was because of her words or because the two guns being pointed at him.

For a split second, Callen closed his eyes and concentrated on timing and all the sounds, and he recognized the heavy steps from his partner coming their way. He took a risk, and he knew, but he didn't mind right now because this was what he had to do. This was what they did. "Lower your guns," he demanded once again.

He dodged, and the large container caught the bullet which was meant for him. More bullets started flying, this time from the side where Callen trusted his partner would be as well too.

A scream shouted and a heavy thump was heard immediately after. One down, two left.

Callen simply witnessed how Sam shot them, center mass, in a fast double tap. It always worked, and both Callen and Sam saw how they went down right on the spot. Callen didn't bother checking — right now his attention was for the main reason Callen was around: Macey Campbell, who was mostly unresponsive.

Sam first kicked away all the guns, then kneeled next to his partner. Much to Callen's surprise, Sam took a syringe and swiftly injected a fluid in Macey's upper arm. Then he got up and looked around. "Exactly what I thought."

More footsteps came near, and both Sam and Callen looked up. "Steve," Sam said. "Call SDPD. There's one in here to be arrested. Two deadly victims. We need to line this a crime scene. And be careful, the material you were missing is in there indeed."

"Sam?" Callen looked up. "What is this all about?"

"Too much to explain right now. We need to hurry." On that, he gently put his strong arms underneath Macey's shoulders and thighs, got on his feet and carried her away. "Elevator, First floor" he ordered.  
A nurse waited in there and Sam put Macey on the patient's bed which was readied as well.

Then Sam slowly breathed out before he explained. "Fentanyl, G. Steve had noticed a vial was missing. I sent the footage he had to Eric, and was on the phone with him when you called. Nell warned me you called her and that we missed the daycare patients. Also, Macey was on her own. I just… well, I connected the dots. Fentanyl is an easy drug, injected or inhaled."

"And what did you inject her with?"

"Naloxone. That stuff fentanyl can be deadly, G. Naloxone works only for a short period, but it can reverse the effects of an overdose. She needs clean air, fluids…"

"We need to check on a patient's heart rate as well." A dark voice, from a man dressed in one of the personnel's uniforms, sounded behind them.

Callen chewed on the inside of his cheeks and shook his head. He heaved a deep sigh. "What are the perspectives?"

The man, with a badge with the name John Williams tagged on his shirt, nodded and said "Okay. We rarely are around so soon. However, it'll take some days until the drug will leave her body. Until then, we'll see to it she will not slowly sink into a coma."

"Thanks doc," Sam said, and Callen only nodded.

"We'll need to contact the others, G." Sam concluded once the doctor had left. "They need to find out how anyone could've known about agent Schwartz was in here."

All Callen mentioned right now, still upset about it all, was "Macey Campbell."

* * *

 _Thank you all for reading!_

Kni®benrots


	33. Chapter 33

Dots, chapter 33

* * *

A/N This is – really! – the final part of this storyline. Hope you'll enjoy it as it is, and please do let me know if you appreciated it! For your inofrmation: I've started it over again for 4 times and still, I have some hesitations…

To all those who read and reviewed the past chapter (Wotumba, Janice, Linda, Vicki, Skippy, Mulderette and Karine) thank you so much!

* * *

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **VA San Diego Hospital || two days later **

He checked on her, once again. Despite the pallor, she looked okay. Asleep, like the last time he'd seen her. Complete innocence. Some freckles on her nose which he never noticed before. Looking like this, she definitely was not the type of special agent anyone would think of, nor a patient who should be in a place like this. He smiled to himself. Someone who could stay unnoticed, if necessary. Or stand out, if needed. He sure wished her happiness.

"Ready to go, partner?"

Callen laughed softly. He should have known that Sam was near. And of course he realized how his friend knew exactly what he was thinking about. Still, he turned and sighed "What a case…"

"A hell of a case," Sam agreed. "Can't remember ever seen any like this, except for on TV. You know that show – 'The Blacklist'?" He chuckled and added "Of course you don't, since you don't even own a tv-set. Anyway, it's Michelle's favorite show. There's a list of criminals as well, you know, but there's a crime solved every week. I've got the feeling we did about, what was it, 50 to 80? Well, in only four or five weeks all in all. Man, this was over half a year of the show in only these few weeks."

Callen nodded. "It feels like that too. Don't know about you, but I sure look forward to be back home." He stooped down, took his bag pack and slung it over his shoulder. "Ready to go, partner?"

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **NCIS headquarters in Los Angeles || one day later**

She nodded from time to time, agreeing to all she heard from the juniors at the office. Actually, Henrietta Lange was proud, very proud, of her youngest agents.  
Though not fully qualified for field duty, even Eric Beale had been impressive in all he had achieved during the past few weeks. Now, he did what he was best in: going through digital files, comparing, deducting and concluding.

"So," Nell added to all Eric had just explained to the others of the team "Jesus DeMarcos' brother, Augusto, was imprisoned at the same location as Martin Blake. It really was a coincidence, I think. How Blake did it, I don't know. But, well, what we found was this."  
She nodded to her partner at Ops, and Eric continued as he enthusiastically showed some kind of map with several kind of lines and names, places and dates.

"Martin Blake probably observed many other prisoners. Tried to manipulate some of them, and obviously had someone else still in the field. Till now, we still don't know who and where."  
He looked at the others, knowing his message certainly hit some nerves. Then he continued "The DeMarcos brothers were close. They never skipped the max of three family visits a week."

Nell nodded "And while Augusto was in for serious violence and gang membership, Jesus always fought for the right cause. It was Jesus, however, who needed money for the care he needed. And Blake offered money. In fact, Augusto mentioned that Martin Blake threatened that he'd be molested if Jesus would not do what Martin planned."

Sam shook his head. "And it never was anything that Jesus really wanted to do. All he wanted to do was getting better and protect his little brother, who took the wrong turn joining one of the gangs in town and was destined to end up in jail anyhow. Damn that Blake!" He glanced at his best friend and expected some kind of response, like he knew the other members of the team were doing too. Well, Sam wasn't that surprised to see how his partner uncharacteristically kept his stare to his shoes instead of replying.

It was Hetty who had the final word right now. "Indeed, Mr. Hanna. Perhaps it would be best to let former agent Blake ánd the previous assistant director Gerald Keene know that, unfortunately, miss Marcia Schwartz is no longer with us. See if you can convince them, somehow."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Lancaster State Prison || Los Angeles || three days later**

She tried to imitate the so-called 'Gorgon Stare' which Hetty had shown so many times before. It seemed to work. Nell Jones and Marty Deeks had demanded an interview with Gerald Keene, and if there were a 'good cop', it would be Deeks this time. Deeks did not sit down, but stood in the far corner beside his co-worker.

No matter her small stature, Nell leaned forward, placed her hands on table and stared at Keene for a few long minutes, without speaking. The man tried to avoid her gaze, and when she finally decided that she'd had it with him, Nell slammed her right hand flat on the table. She had all the attention she wanted now.

"So tell me now, Keene. Tell me what agent Schwartz did to deserve all this?" She never yelled. On the contrary, her voice was neutral and nearly sad.

Keene looked up, his chin forward, and tried to read any message in the hazel eyes of the young woman in front of him. If there was anything he noticed, it was a restraint anger and some kind of sadness perhaps. He then shook his head.

"Keene, man… we know it wasn't you, not you alone, who planned it," Deeks said as he shook his head. Gentle and with more sadness in his baby blue eyes. "You know how these things work, don't you?"

Keene started "I… well…" He paused a second before he glanced at the agents in front of him. He scraped his throat and shook his head, again, before he looked up with more confidence. "I want indemnity from prosecution," he said.

"But of course," Deeks said.

For a while, Keene hesitated. Then he started talking, confessing, telling how Martin Blake had planned it all.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Florence, Colorado || one day later**

It had been quite a struggle for Sam and Kensi to exercise restraint, facing Martin Blake.

"I won't give a damn if any of your fellow inmates knows that you were with a federal agency, Blake." Kensi rubbed her red and tired eyes, and from the corner of her eye she noticed the incredible impressing cold stare Sam gave the other man. It probably did what they wanted the other man to think.

"Consider it as some kind of insurance policy, Blake," Sam added. "Your confession."

"She listening?" Blake smirked.

There was the shortest gasp coming from Kensi, which enlarged the smug smile on Blake's face.

It all fell into the right place, the wonder of make believe.

Exactly what the cameras caught. The recording of both Gerald Keene and Martin Blake's words were enough to keep both men where they belonged – in jail, no longer a threat to those the team wanted to protect.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Cedar Brooks, Twin Peaks || one week later**

Even in her own house, she looked like a lost little girl. Like over two months ago, she let him in, just as reluctant as she had been back then.  
The place was lacking something that Callen had noticed before. He noticed the few suitcases in the corner of the living room. Then he looked at her, noticing the dark circles and the lines near her eyes. He hadn't been that sure if visiting was the best plan he could think of, but had shrugged the thought off to just let it go.  
"So…?"

She tilted her head just slightly and wetted her lips. "What do you want me to say? That I'm having nightmares? Perhaps that I am still angry they found me in here? That I decided to find me another place? Or perhaps, that I'm afraid? Angry, yeah, and scared indeed, simply because they found me in here, and found me again. In fact I feel — well, call it hunted."

"Leaving won't help," Callen said. It had never helped him, actually.

She let out a short huff. "Well... It's my decision. I'll find some place to go. I just... don't want to be found. Ever again."

He understood, but then again, it wasn't what he wanted to hear. It wasn't what he wanted someone to feel either. Yet, his words sounded as in some poor romantic novel: "As long as I'm around... I won't let anything happen to you."

It made her laugh, but also in a way which didn't sound sincere. "Hah! Well, actually... You can't promise me that. Besides, whenever you were around, all kind of things were happening. That's why I'm leaving, Callen. As long as I am on my own, I know I can depend on my own actions. Good or bad. And I just need... dunno. Fresh air. Time to think how I can go on. Special agent Marcia Schwartz died, you know. And there's no way I can publish any work as Macey Campbell either, now that alias was found. On top of that, I lost my job in here too."

He muttered something she didn't even understand. "It doesn't matter, Callen. I'll be alright." Macey wetted her lips in a way to hide she was far from feeling alright, then repeated "I know I'm going to be all right, in the end." It was an insurance to herself.

She turned around, stared out of the window over the garden where they once had ran through. She heaved a deep sigh, and unconsciously rubbed her own, bare, upper arms.

He couldn't help himself, he drew her against him. She didn't resist. He stroke her hair until she let out a long breath and finally relaxed. She leaned against his body, and Callen kept it light - laid his left hand on her cheek and pressed his body against hers. She didn't fight it. Not at all. Slid her hand to the back of his neck. Then back on his cheek, loving the roughness of his 5 o'clock stubble and his hand which lowered to her hips.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

 **Half a year later**

This time it wasn't Sam who drove the car. Instead, the large man leaned back in the leather seat of the dark grey Mercedes and stared through the front window of the car, relaxed and in a weekend mood.

"I mean it, Sam," Callen said. "After this is all over, we ought to settle down somewhere nice and quiet. Do some fishing, some golfing, build things."

A chuckle came from beside. "What kind of things?"

"I don't know. Whatever guys build when they retire. You know, like hobby stuff."

There was another chuckle, and Sam repeated "Hobby stuff? G, You don't fish and you don't golf "

Callen glanced at his partner and best friend, and muttered "I'm not retired."

The whole discussion sounded so familiar to Sam, and he shook his head. "But, well, you don't have any hobbies. The only way a guy like you would retire is with a bullet."

From the backseat, he heard his wife hold her breath after a hiss, and Sam looked in the rear view mirror, noticing how Michelle shook her head. Well, perhaps he went too far. "What I meant to say — what I meant to say was that I can't see you giving this job of yours up, alright?"

This time, it caused a small chuckle and a familiar smirk on his friend's face. One Sam had noticed so many times, recently. "Where did you say we were going to?"

"A nice place for dinner. Been there, ehm, several times now."  
The three of them were quiet for some minutes, and Sam noticed how Callen also appeared to be far more relaxed than he'd seen him during the past few days. Finally, Callen slowed the car down and took a turn to the left. Sycamore, oak and cedar trees were along the road and separated the houses from one another. Then he halted the Mercedes on the street.

"This is it?" Michelle asked.

A confirming hum sounded, and Sam noticed another smile he hardly recognized. By then, Callen had opened the car and closed the door already, and the Hanna's simply followed. A small pathway lead to a greyish-green house, with fresh white painted fences that were covered by roses and other plants. A large deck was on one of the sides, also with fresh and white railing. Some white wicker chairs and a lounge set were ready for the warm summer nights of the next year.  
The front door swung open, and in one way or another, Sam was not surprised at all to see an all too familiar posture standing and waiting for them. With some minor changes though, former special agent Marcia Schwartz looked — really different. Sam couldn't really put a finger on it.  
Her hair was much shorter and wavy now. And dark, nearly black. It still fit with the person in front of them. Still, there was something different.

There was a warm and special smile for Callen, and her eyes still had a special sparkle when she welcomed Sam and Michelle. Warm, but still somewhat shy at the same time. "Hello and welcome. Hi Sam. And it is great to meet you, Michelle. Callen told me so much about you."

Michelle raised her brows. "He did?"

"Your casseroles, your welcoming couch and the many, many nights he spent at your place, watching television."

"All those nights the guys forced me to watch some kind of sports instead of my favorite shows," Michelle laughed, while shaking her head as she really showed her fondness for her husband's friend.

"Actually, I'm not the best cook in town. So, no casseroles tonight." Macey confessed. "But well—"

"Your cooking is always better than mine," Callen interrupted with a soft chuckle.  
It never surprised Sam to see how his friend embraced the other woman while Callen was more talkative than he was used to. "One question for Michelle. You watched last night's episode of your favorite show?"

Sam's wife glanced at Callen curiously. "Yeah. Why?"

"Just asking," Callen smiled. "You liked it?"

Michelle nodded. "One of the best of this season. Action-packed, thick with suspense. Even Sam watched it!"  
There was something hidden in Callen's question. 'Pride', Sam picked up.

"Callen, please…" Macey said. At the same time, a beep sounded from inside the house and she turned. "Kitchen's calling. Please just let your friends come inside, Callen."

Once he had stopped following her with his clear blue eyes, he nearly whispered "She won't tell. When you re-watch, Michelle, pay attention to the credits. 'Screenplay by Macey Black'. New place, new looks. New name."

Indeed, it was pride that Sam had recognized. That, and a whole new future. "New life too…"

The moment his words came out, he knew this was the one day he hoped for all the time.

* * *

-The End-


End file.
